Chapter 2 A Peck Of Owls

‘What?’ said Harry blankly.

‘He left!’ said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. ‘Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will kill him!’

‘But—’

The revelation that his batty old cat-obsessed neighbour knew what dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as meeting two of them down the alleyway. ‘You're—you're a witch?’

‘I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off dementors? He left you completely without cover when I'd warned him—’

‘This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on—it was him! He Disapparated from the front of my house!’

‘Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone— and now—oh, what's Dumbledore going to say? You!’ she shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. ‘Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!’

‘You know Dumbledore?’ said Harry, staring at her.

‘Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come on— I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag.’

She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged.

‘Get up, you useless lump, get up!’

But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remained on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.

‘I'll do it.’ Harry took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved. With an enormous effort he managed to hoist him to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting. His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.

‘Hurry up!’ said Mrs. Figg hysterically.

Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight. Mrs. Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.

‘Keep your wand out,’ she told Harry, as they entered Wisteria Walk. ‘Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery... This was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of—what's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr. Prentice... Don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?’

It was not easy to hold a wand steady and haul Dudley along at the same time. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harry's shoulder, his large feet dragging along the ground.

‘Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib, Mrs. Figg?’ asked Harry, panting with the effort to keep walking. ‘All those times I came round your house—why didn't you say anything?’

‘Dumbledore's orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know ... but oh my word,’ she said tragically, wringing her hands once more, ‘when Dumbledore hears about this—how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight—where is he? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened? I can't Apparate—’

‘I've got an owl, you can borrow her,’ Harry groaned, wondering whether his spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight.

‘Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words—’

‘But I was getting rid of dementors, I had to use magic—they're going to be more worried about what dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?’

‘Oh, my dear, I wish it were so, but I'm afraid— MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!’

There was a loud crack and a strong smell of drink mingled with stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialised right in front of them. He had short, bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair and bloodshot, baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound. He was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognised at once as an Invisibility Cloak.

’ ‘S’ up, Figgy?’ he said, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harry and Dudley. ‘What ‘appened to staying undercover?’

‘I'll give you undercover!’ cried Mrs. Figg. ‘Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!’

‘Dementors?’ repeated Mundungus, aghast. ‘Dementors, here?’

‘Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!’ shrieked Mrs. Figg. ‘Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!’

‘Blimey,’ said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry, and back again. ‘Blimey, I...’

‘And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?’

‘I—well, I—’ Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. ‘It ... it was a very good business opportunity, see...’

Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made it was full of cat food.

‘Ouch—gerroff— gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!’

‘Yes—they— have!’ yelled Mrs. Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. ‘And—it—had—better—be—you—and—you—can—tell— him—why—you—weren't—there—to—help!’

‘Keep your ‘airnet on!’ said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. ‘I'm going, I'm going!’

And with another loud crack, he vanished.

‘I hope Dumbledore murders him!’ said Mrs. Figg furiously. ‘Now come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?’

Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semi-conscious Dudley a heave and staggered onwards.

‘I'll take you to the door,’ said Mrs. Figg, as they turned into Privet Drive. ‘Just in case there are more of them around.... Oh my word, what a catastrophe ... and you had to fight them off yourself ... and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs.... Well, it's no good crying over spilt potion, I suppose ... but the cat's among the pixies now...’

‘So,’ Harry panted, ‘Dumbledore's ... been having ... me followed?’

‘Of course he has,’ said Mrs. Figg impatiently. ‘Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent.... Right ... get inside and stay there,’ she said, as they reached number four. ‘I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Harry quickly.

‘I'm going straight home,’ said Mrs. Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. ‘I'll need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Goodnight.’

‘Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know—’

But Mrs. Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking.

‘Wait!’ Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyone who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs. Figg was swallowed by the darkness. Scowling, Harry readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his slow, painful way up number four's garden path.

The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand back inside the waistband of his jeans, rang the bell and watched Aunt Petunia's outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door.

‘Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite—quite— Diddy, what's the matter?’

Harry looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in time. Dudley swayed on the spot for a moment, his face pale green ... then he opened his mouth and vomited all over the doormat.

‘DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!’

Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forwards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.

‘He's ill, Vernon!’

‘What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?’

‘Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?’

‘Hang on—you haven't been mugged, have you, son?’

Aunt Petunia screamed.

‘Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?’

In all the kerfuffle nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, which suited him perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.

‘Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry.’

‘Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!’

Harry's foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice.

‘Him.’

Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion.

‘BOY! COME HERE!’

With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.

The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy-looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.

‘What have you done to my son?’ he said in a menacing growl.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.

‘What did he do to you, Diddy?’ Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. ‘Was it—was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use—his thing?’

Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.

‘I didn't!’ Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. ‘I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, it was—’

But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.

‘OWLS!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. ‘OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!’

But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.

The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

Harry read the letter through twice. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking. Inside his head, all was icy and numb. One fact had penetrated his consciousness like a paralysing dart. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.

He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley who was retching again.

Harry's temporarily stupefied brain seemed to reawaken. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. There was only one thing for it. He would have to run—now. Where he was going to go, Harry didn't know but he was certain of one thing: at Hogwarts or outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.

‘Where d'you think you're going?’ yelled Uncle Venon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. ‘I haven't finished with you, boy!’

‘Get out of the way,’ said Harry quietly.

‘You're going to stay here and explain how my son—’

‘If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you,’ said Harry, raising the wand.

‘You can't pull that one on me!’ snarled Uncle Vernon. ‘I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!’

The madhouse has chucked me out,’ said Harry. ‘So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One—two—’

A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was searching for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: a dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.

Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of ‘OWLS!’ Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had taken the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.

Harry—

Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.

Arthur Weasley

Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out ... what did that mean? how much power did Dumbledore have to override the Ministry of Magic? Was there a chance that he might be allowed back to Hogwarts, then? A small shoot of hope burgeoned in Harry's chest, almost immediately strangled by panic—how was he supposed to refuse to surrender his wand without doing magic? He'd have to duel with the Ministry representatives, and if he did that, he'd be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone expulsion.

His mind was racing.... He could run for it and risk being captured by the Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find him here. He was much more tempted by the former course, but he knew Mr. Weasley had his best interests at heart ... and, after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before....

‘Right,’ Harry said, ‘I've changed my mind, I'm staying.’

He flung himself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.

‘Who are all these ruddy owls from?’ he growled.

‘The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,’ said Harry calmly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon's questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry.’

‘Ministry of Magic?’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘People like you in government? Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs....’

When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, ‘And why have you been expelled?’

‘Because I did magic.’

‘AHA!’ roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. ‘So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harry, slightly less calmly. ‘That wasn't me—’

‘Was,’ muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quieten him while they both bent low over Dudley.

‘Go on, son,’ said Uncle Vernon, ‘what did he do?’

‘Tell us, darling,’ whispered Aunt Petunia.

‘Pointed his wand at me,’ Dudley mumbled.

‘Yeah, I did, but I didn't use—’ Harry began angrily, but...

‘SHUT UP!’ roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.

‘Go on, son,’ repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.

‘All dark,’ Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. ‘Everything dark. And then I h-heard ... things. Inside m-my head...’

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their least favourite thing in the world was magic, closely followed by neighbours who cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban, people who heard voices were definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.

‘What sort of things did you hear, popkin?’ breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.

But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life.... What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?

‘How come you fell over, son?’ said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.

‘T-tripped,’ said Dudley shakily. ‘And then—’

He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood: Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.

‘Horrible,’ croaked Dudley. ‘Cold. Really cold.’

‘OK,’ said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. ‘What happened then, Dudders?’

‘Felt ... felt ... felt ... as if ... as if...’

‘As if you'd never be happy again,’ Harry supplied dully.

‘Yes,’ Dudley whispered, still trembling.

‘So!’ said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. ‘You put some crackpot spell on my on so he'd hear voices and believe he was—was doomed to misery, or something, did you?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ said Harry, temper and voice both rising. ‘It wasn't me! It was a couple of dementors!’

‘A couple of—what's this codswallop?’

‘De—men—tors,’ said Harry slowly and clearly. ‘Two of them.’

‘And what the ruddy hell are dementors?’

‘They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,’ said Aunt Petunia.

Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing—butAunt Petunia?

‘How d'you know that?’ he asked her, astonished.

Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.

‘I heard—that awful boy—telling her about them—years ago,’ she said jerkily.

‘If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?’ said Harry loudly but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.

Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, ‘So—so—they—er—they—er—they actually exist, do they—er— Dementy-whatsits?’

Aunt Petunia nodded.

Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout ‘April Fool!’ When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.

‘Enough—effing—owls...’ muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping over to the window and slamming it shut again.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken.

Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries.

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

Harry read this letter through three times in quick succession. The miserable knot in his chest loosened slightly with the relief of knowing he was not yet definitely expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.

‘Well?’ said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. ‘What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?’ he added as a hopeful afterthought.

‘I've got to go to a hearing,’ said Harry.

‘And they'll sentence you there?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘I won't give up hope, then,’ said Uncle Vernon nastily.

‘Well, if that's all,’ said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Ron, Hermione or Sirius.

‘NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘SIT BACK DOWN!’

‘What now?’ said Harry impatiently.

‘DUDLEY!’ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘I want to know exactly what happened to my son!’

‘FINE!’ yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified.

‘Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk,’ said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. ‘Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two dementors turned up—’

‘But what ARE Dementoids?’ asked Uncle Vernon furiously. ‘What do they DO?’

‘I told you—they suck all the happiness out of you,’ said Harry, ‘and if they get the chance, they kiss you—’

‘Kiss you?’ said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. ‘Kiss you?’

‘It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.’

Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream.

‘His soul? They didn't take—he's still got his—’

She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him.

‘Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had,’ said Harry, exasperated.

‘Fought ‘em off, did you, son?’ said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he understood. ‘Gave ‘em the old one-two, did you?’

‘You can't give a Dementor the old one-two,’ said Harry through clenched teeth.

‘Why's he all right, then?’ blustered Uncle Vernon. ‘Why isn't he all empty, then?’

‘Because I used the Patronus—’

WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.

‘FOR GOD'S SAKE!’ roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his moustache, something he hadn't been driven to do in a long time. ‘I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!’

But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl's leg. He was so convinced that this letter had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everything—the dementors, Mrs. Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out—that for the first time in his life he was disappointed to see Sirius's handwriting. Ignoring Uncle Vernons ongoing rant about owls, and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the most recent owl took off back up the chimney, Harry read Sirius's message.

Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.

Harry found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing else.

And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say ‘well done’ for fighting off two dementors single-handed? Both Mr. Weasley and Sirius were acting as though he'd misbehaved, and were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done.

‘—a peck, I mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won't have it, boy, I won't—’

‘I can't stop the owls coming,’ Harry snapped, crushing Sirius's letter in his fist.

‘I want the truth about what happened tonight!’ barked Uncle Vernon. ‘If it was demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you've been expelled? You did you-know-what, you've admitted, it!’

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. His head was beginning to ache again. He wanted more than anything to get out of the kitchen, and away from the Dursleys.

‘I did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the dementors,’ he said, forcing himself to remain calm. ‘It's the only thing that works against them.’

‘But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?’ said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone.

‘Couldn't tell you,’ said Harry wearily. ‘No idea.’

His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger was ebbing away. He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at him.

‘It's you,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully. ‘It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've got to be the only—the only—’ Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word ‘wizard'. The only you-know-what for miles.’

‘I don't know why they were here.’

But at Uncle Vernon's words, Harry's exhausted brain had ground back into action. Why had the dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?

‘These demembers guard some weirdo prison?’ asked Uncle Vernon, lumbering along in the wake of Harry's train of thought.

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his dark bedroom and think....

‘Oho! They were coming to arrest you!’ said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. ‘That's it, isn't it, boy? You're on the run from the law!’

‘Of course I'm not,’ said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare off a fly, his mind racing now.

‘Then why—?’

‘He must have sent them,’ said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon.

‘What's that? Who must have sent them?’

‘Lord Voldemort,’ said Harry.

He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, winced and squawked if they heard words like ‘wizard', ‘magic’ or ‘wand', could hear the name of the most evil wizard of all time without the slightest tremor.

‘Lord—hang on,’ said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. ‘I've heard that name ... that was the one who...’

‘Murdered my parents, yes,’ Harry said dully.

‘But he's gone,’ said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry's parents might be a painful topic. ‘That giant bloke said so. He's gone.’

‘He's back,’ said Harry heavily.

It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia's surgically clean kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond. Harry's two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned upside-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the magical world, and Mrs. Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; dementors were soaring around Little Whinging, and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harry's head throbbed more painfully.

‘Back?’ whispered Aunt Petunia.

She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sisters) were not narrowed in dislike or anger, they were wide and fearful. The furious pretence that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry's life—that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon—seemed to have fallen away.

‘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 this 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 all 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 forwards now, his massive purple face coming so close to Harry's, he 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 back up the chimney.

Harry darted forwards 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 smouldered 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 spiralled 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 neighbours will talk,’ she said. She was rapidly regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner, 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 tyre.

‘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 GO UP TO BED!’

“你说什么？”哈利一片茫然。

　　“他走了，”费格太太两手湿淋淋的说道，“他离开是为了去看一个人，那个人从扫帚背上，掉下去一组坩埚！我告诉过他，如果他离开我会活剥了他的皮，现在看看都发生了什么！摄魂怪！这次还是幸运的，我把提比斯先生拉进这个事件当中！但是我们还是没有时间巡视周围！现在，哈利，我们要送你回家！哦，这个麻烦本来不应当发生的！我要杀了他！”

　　“但是—”对哈利来说，发现他的那个疯狂的爱猫的老太太邻居，居然知道摄魂怪是什么东西，这一点对哈利的震撼与在小巷遇上两只摄魂怪几乎一样大。“你是—你是一个女巫？”

　　“正如蒙顿格斯完全了解的那样，我是一个哑炮（巫师界对于那些具有传统巫师血统却没有魔法的人的一种称呼），因此怎么能够想象我有能力帮助你击退摄魂怪呢？可是在我警告过他的情况下，他却毫不明智的离开了你—”

　　蒙顿格斯一直在跟着我？啊哈—是他！是他在我的房子前面闹出了这么大的动静！

　　“是的！是的！是的！但是幸运的是，仅仅为了以防万一，我还让提比斯先生驻守在一辆车子底下（第一章里面那头跑出去的猫），而提比斯先生也确实跑来警告了我，但是当我去你家的时候你已经离开了—而现在—哦！丹伯多将会怎么说呢？”“你！”她对着仍然仰躺在小巷地上的达德里大声叫道，“把你的肥屁股离开地面，快点！”

　　“你认识丹伯多？”哈利盯着她说。

　　“我当然认识丹伯多，又有谁不认识丹伯多呢？但是现在来吧—如果它们再回来，我可就无能为力了，我从未做到过象变形成一只喝茶包这样的魔法。”

　　她停了下来，用她枯瘦的手抓着达德里的一只肥胖的胳膊吃力的拖着。

　　“起来，你这个没用的笨蛋，起来！”

　　但是达德里既没能力也不愿意站起来。他赖在地上，全身颤抖、脸色苍白、嘴唇紧闭。

　　“我来。”哈利抓起达德里的胳膊并举了起来。经过一番巨大的努力他尽力让达德里把脚也抬起来，可达德里看起来还是不省人事。他的小眼睛在眼窝里滚动，汗水布满整个脸庞；当哈利让他自己走的时候，他的身体危险地摇摇晃晃。

　　“快点！”费格太太歇斯底里的叫道。

　　哈利把达德里一只肥胖的胳膊架在自己的肩膀上，并把他向街上拖过去，在达德里的重量下哈利的肩膀微微的下垂。费格太太在他们的前面踉踉跄跄，紧张的注视着街道的拐角处。

　　“把你的魔杖拔出来！”当他们进入紫藤路时，她对哈利说道：“现在别再管什么保密法令了。（保密法令是魔法部制订的关于禁止在麻瓜区域使用魔法的法律），无论如何我们都会被严厉惩罚的，没准象只混蛋一样被龙绞死。谈谈那个有点道理的未成年人巫术限制条例吧：这正是丹伯多所担心的事情—哪里是这条街的尽头？哦，那正是普伦提斯先生。别把你的魔杖放下，孩子！不要让我一直告诉你，我不能使用魔法好不好？”

　　在用力拖住达德里的同时，稳定的握住魔杖，并不是件容易的事情。哈利不耐烦的撞了一下他的堂兄达德里的肋骨，但是达德里看起来已经失去了所有独立行动的渴望。他整个瘫倒在哈利的肩膀上，而他巨大的脚则拖在地面上。

　　“为什么你不早告诉我，你是一个哑炮，费格太太？”哈利一边奋力行走，一边气喘吁吁的问道，“当我待在你房子里的时候—为什么你什么也不说？”

　　“丹伯多的命令。我必须监护你但不能告诉你任何事，你太年轻。我很抱歉给了你如此悲惨的时光，哈利！但是如果杜斯利夫妇认为你喜欢我这里的话，他们就再也不会让你来了。你知道的，这很不容易，但是，哦！瞧我都说了些什么。”她再一次手心出汗并悲伤的叫道：“当丹伯多听到这些的时候—听到蒙顿格斯怎么能离开，直到午夜他都被假定是在执行任务的—他在哪里？我该怎么告诉丹伯多发生的事情？我无法联络。”

　　“我有一头猫头鹰，你可以借用它。”哈利呻吟着，对他的脊背能够承受达德里的重量感到极为惊讶。

　　“哈利，你不明白！丹伯多要尽快行动，魔法部有他们自己的探测未成年人施展魔法的渠道，他们现在已经知道了，你必须相信我的话。”

　　“但是我除掉了摄魂怪，我不得不使用魔法—他们应该更担忧的是，摄魂怪在紫藤路游荡正在干些什么，对吗？”

　　“哦，亲爱的，我希望事情就是如此，但是我恐怕—蒙顿格斯·弗莱彻，我要杀了你！”

　　当一个穿着破破烂烂外套的人突然出现在他们面前的时候，响起了一声响亮的破碎声，空气当中充满了一股混合了腐烂烟草味道的酒的刺鼻气味。这个人有着短短的罗圈腿，长而散乱的淡黄色头发，以及充满血丝的，松垂的眼睛，这一切使得他看起来就象一头矮脚猎犬，呈现出一种阴沉的样子。他同样抓着一个银色的小包，哈利立刻就认出来那是一件隐形斗篷。

　　“早上好吗？费格。”他第一次看了看费格太太，哈利和达德里，然后说道。“在我从事秘密活动期间发生了什么？”

　　“让你的秘密活动见鬼去吧！”费格太太喊了出来“摄魂怪出现了，你这个没用，该杀的小偷！”

　　“摄魂怪？” 蒙顿格斯惊呆了，他重复道，“你是说摄魂怪吗？” “是的，就在这里，你是个毫无价值的蹩脚间谍，就在这里！”费格太太尖叫道。“在你的监视下摄魂怪袭击了这个孩子！”

　　“哎呀，” 蒙顿格斯软弱无力的回答，从费格太太看到哈利，然后有看回来，“哎呀，我—” “你是不是又去买那些偷来的坩埚了！我难道没告诉你不要去吗？我难道—”

　　“我也知道，我—” 蒙顿格斯看起来很难受，“它，它真的是个很好的商业机会，看—” 费格太太举起那只缠在手臂上的包并把它甩到了蒙顿格斯的脸上，包的细绳顺势缠住了蒙顿格斯的脖子，根据包叮当作响的情况判断，包里应该装满了猫食。

　　“哎呦—把它拿开—拿开，你这只发疯的老蝙蝠（在英文里蝙蝠和间谍同一单词）！有人会把这事告诉丹伯多的！”

　　“是的—他们—已经这么做了！”费格太太一边大叫一边把五颜六色的猫食，砸向她能够够的着的蒙顿格斯的每一个部位，“而且—最好是你—你能去告诉丹伯多—为什么你没有在那里救援！”

　　“保持理智！” 蒙顿格斯说道，他的手护在头上，不断向后退缩，“我正在赶去！我正在赶去！” 然后随着另一声巨大的碎裂声，他消失了。

　　“我希望丹伯多杀了他！”费格太太狂暴的说道，“现在，过来，哈利，你还在等什么？”

　　哈利决定不再浪费他剩下的气力，去指出在达德里的重压下他几乎无法移动。他将半昏迷的达德里举了一下，使他更向前倾。

　　“我将把你送到门口，”当他们拐进女贞路的时候费格太太说道：“只不过万一周围还有更多的摄魂怪，哦！我的上帝啊，这真是一场大灾难，而你就必须凭自己的力量击退它们，而且丹伯多说过，我们应当不惜一切代价以使你免于使用魔法，好吧！我想现在不是为小事担心的时候，不过那些猫现在在恶作剧。”

　　“因此，”哈利气喘吁吁的说道，“丹伯多一直在跟着我吗？”

　　“当然…是的，”费格太太语气明显缺乏耐心的说道，“你以为在六月的事件发生之后，他会放任你在四周闲逛吗？好了，孩子，他们告诉我让你待在这里是明智而正确的，”当他们抵达四号门牌的时候费格太太这样说道，“我希望很快就会有人将和你接触了。”

　　“你现在要去干什么？”哈利很快的问道。

　　“我直接回家，”费格太太回答道，她盯着四周黑暗的街道，浑身发抖，“我需要等待更多的，只是，在那之前仅仅是待在家里。晚安！”

　　“等等，现在别走！我想知道—”

　　但是费格太太已经一路小跑的离开了，她的拖鞋嗒嗒作响，细线包也在叮当作响。

　　“等等！”哈利在她后面大声叫着。他有一百万个问题要问任何一个与丹伯多教授有接触的人：但是在几秒钟之内，费格太太的身影就被黑暗吞没了。愁眉苦脸的哈利重新把肩头的达德里调整了一下姿势以使他们缓慢的，浑身疼痛的挪到女贞路四号的花园小径上。

　　客厅的灯依然亮着。哈利将魔杖收回到牛仔裤的腰带里，摁响了门铃并且看着帕尤妮亚姨妈的轮廓变得越来越大，同时古怪得扭曲在大门的毛玻璃上。

　　“达德里！也到时间了，我正在变得十分，十分—达德里，发生什么事了！”

　　哈利看了看旁边的达德里，并且适时的从达德里的手臂下窜了出来。达德里在原地摇晃了一下，他的脸青一块白一块，然后他张开嘴吐的门口到处都是。

　　“达德里！达德里！到底发生什么事了？维能！维能！”

　　哈利的姨父从卧室里意气扬扬的走出来，他两端下垂的小胡子被吹的左一根右一根，当他激动不按的时候好象总是这样的。他急忙上前帮助帕尤妮亚姨妈将腿脚发软的达德里弄了进来，同时也避免踩到地上那堆恶心的呕吐物。

　　“他病了，维能！”

　　“你感觉如何，儿子？发生什么事了？是否波尔克丝夫人给你喝了某种外国茶？”

　　“为什么你全身是土，亲爱的？你曾经倒在地上了吗？”

　　“等等—你的脸没事吧，对吗，儿子？”

　　帕尤妮亚姨妈尖声大叫。

　　“叫警察，维能！叫警察！达德里，亲爱的，和妈妈说话啊！他们对你做了什么？”

　　在整个这场混乱中，始终没人注意到哈利，这很适合他。他想在维能姨父大力关门之前悄悄的溜进去，当达德里将他的噪音节目从客厅搬到厨房时，哈利小心翼翼的移动并且安静的上楼了。

　　“谁干的，儿子？告诉我们名字。我们会抓到他的，别担心。”

　　“安静！他想要说什么，维能！发生了什么，达德里？告诉妈妈！”

　　当达德里找回声音的时候，哈利正好踩在楼梯的最底下。

　　“是他。”

　　哈利冻住了，他的脚踩在楼梯上，脸绷的紧紧的。

　　“小子！过来！”

　　带着一种混合了恐惧与愤怒的感情，哈利慢慢的从楼梯上移开脚并且转身跟着杜斯利夫妇。

　　在外面的黑暗之后，小心翼翼清洁过的厨房发出一种古怪的，不真实的闪光。帕尤妮亚姨妈将达德里安置在一张椅子上，达德里依然脸色发青，看上去又湿又冷。维能姨父站在排水盖的前面通过他那双小小的，窄缝般的眼睛盯着哈利。

　　“你对我的儿子做了什么？”他用一种威胁的口气咆哮着。

　　“什么也没干。”哈利回答道，他十分清楚维能姨父不会相信他。

　　“他对你做了什么，达德里？”帕尤妮亚姨妈用一种颤抖的声调问道，她现在正在用海绵清理达德里皮夹克前面的呕吐物。“是不是—是不是—你懂我意思的，亲爱的？他是不是—是不是用了那个东西？”

　　达德里缓慢的，颤抖的点了一下头。

　　“我没有！”当帕尤妮亚姨妈发出一声哀号而维能姨父举起他的拳头的时候，哈利大声叫起来，“我什么也没对他干！那不是我！那是—”

　　但是就在此时，一只长耳的猫头鹰突然通过厨房的窗户猛扑进来。差一点撞上维能姨父的头顶，它滑翔着通过厨房，将它叼在嘴里的一大张羊皮纸的信掉在了哈利的脚边，然后优雅的转身，它翅膀的末端越过冰箱的顶部，然后再次飞到外面急速上升，并穿过花园消失了。

　　“猫头鹰！”维能姨父怒吼道，暴起的血管在他的脸上愤怒的跳动，他砰的一声将厨房的窗户重重的关上。“又一只猫头鹰！我决不会再让另一只猫头鹰进我的房子！”

　　但是哈利已经撕开了信封并将里面的信抽了出来，他的心脏的某处地方被重击了一下。

　　亲爱的波特先生：

　　我们已经收到情报显示今晚九点二十三分在麻瓜的居住区你施展了帕特拿姆魔法，并且是当着一个麻瓜的面。这一行为已经违反了限制未成年人巫术使用条例第七十条的规定，这将导致你被逐出霍格瓦彻魔法学校。魔法部的代表将在短时间内抵达你的住处并毁掉你的魔杖。

　　由于你上一次违反《国际魔法师联盟关于保密的相关条款》第13条的规定，已经收到过一次正式警告，我们很遗憾的通知你，必须在8月12日上午九点到魔法部出席一个训诫听证会。

　　希望你一切都好，

　　你真诚的，

　　马法尔达·霍普凯克

　　魔法部不适当使用魔法办公室

　　哈利将这封信读了两遍。他仅仅能模糊的意识到维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈的谈话。在他的头脑里一切都冰冷而麻木。这一事实就象一根麻痹飞镖一样穿透了他的意识。他被霍格瓦彻除名了。一切都完了。他再也回不去了。

　　他抬头看着杜斯利夫妇。维能姨父的脸色发紫，正在大声咆哮，他的拳头仍然高举着。帕尤妮亚姨妈的手臂搂着达德里，后者又一次呕吐。

　　哈利短暂麻木的大脑看起来重新清醒了。魔法部的代表将很快抵达你的住处并且毁掉你的魔杖。这只能意味着一件事。那就是他现在必须马上跑。要去哪里哈利并不知道，但是他可以肯定一件事，无论是在霍格瓦彻还是在外面他都需要他的魔杖。在梦一般的状态下，他拔出了自己的魔杖并转身离开了厨房。

　　“你认为你要去哪里？”维能姨父叫道。当哈利拒绝回答的时候，他穿过厨房并且重重的锁上了通往客厅的门。“我们还没完，小子！”

　　“让开，”哈利平静的说。

　　“你将待在这里并解释清楚我儿子怎么了。”

　　“如果你不让开我将诅咒你，”哈利说道，并同时举起了魔杖。

　　“你不能在我面前把那个东西拔出来！”维能姨父吼道。“我知道你在那座被你称之为学校的那所疯狂建筑外面是不被允许使用魔法的！”

　　“这所疯狂建筑已经将我开除了”哈利说道。”因此我能够做我喜欢的任何事。你还有三秒钟。一—二—”

　　一声巨大的玻璃碎裂的声音充满了卧室。帕尤妮亚姨妈又尖叫起来。

　　刻意忽略维能姨父的喊叫并快速蹲下，于是这个晚上的第三次，哈利搜索造成骚动的来源，这不是他造成的。他立刻就发现了它，一只头昏眼花，浑身褶子的谷仓猫头鹰（这是可怜的威斯里家猫头鹰的典型特征，它没在送信途中死掉真是一个不折不扣的奇迹啊）正蹲在厨房外面的窗台上，刚刚就是它撞上了关着的窗户。

　　假装没听见维能姨父苦恼的喊着“猫头鹰！”哈利穿过屋子并把窗户打开。这只猫头鹰的两腿并在一起，嘴里叼着一小卷羊皮纸，震动着它的羽毛，并在哈利拿到信的一瞬间就跑了。哈利的手颤抖着打开第二封信，这封信的字迹相当潦草，而且用的是廉价的黑墨水。

　　哈利：

　　丹伯多刚刚赶到魔法部，他正在尽力摆平这件事。不要离开你姨父和姨妈的家。不要再次施展任何魔法。不要交出你的魔杖。

　　亚瑟·威斯里

　　丹伯多正在尽力摆平这件事，这究竟是什么意思呢？丹伯多究竟要有多大的力量才能不顾魔法部的指令呢？那么，他是否还有机会重返霍格瓦彻魔法学校呢？一点小小的希望在哈利的心里萌芽，可是很快就被恐惧扼杀；他要怎么做才能在不使用魔法的情况下拒绝交出自己的魔杖呢？他将不得不和魔法部的代表决斗，并且如果他真的这么作了，他将被扔进阿滋卡班巫师监狱，而不仅仅是开除。

　　他的头脑正在飞速运转，他可以冒着被魔法部通缉的风险逃跑，或者是待在这里等着魔法部的人找到他。他觉得前一种选择诱惑很大，但是他知道威斯里先生是真诚的，并且不管怎么说，在丹伯多试图解决这一事件之前还是不要使事件更加恶化为好。

　　“正确，”哈利说道，“我已经改主意了，我要待在这里。”他猛的冲到厨房桌子旁边面对着达德里和帕尤妮亚姨妈。杜斯利夫妇看来对哈利想法的急剧改变疑惑不解。帕尤妮亚姨妈绝望的盯着维能姨父。后者紫色的脸上血管比刚才暴的更突出了。

　　“所有这些红色的猫头鹰都是从哪来的？”他抱怨道。

　　“第一只是魔法部直属的猫头鹰，它来开除我，”哈利平静的说。他正竖起耳朵捕捉外面的任何动静，万一魔法部的代表正在接近这里的话，更加简洁安静的回答维能姨父的问题总好过让他暴怒并咆哮。“第二只来自我朋友罗恩的父亲，他在魔法部工作。”

　　“魔法部？”维能姨父叫道：“象你一样的家伙居然在政府里！哦，这就可以解释一切，所有的事，毫无疑问我们的国家正在走向灭亡。”

　　当哈利还没回应的时候，维能姨父盯着他，然后一巴掌打过去，“那么他们为何开除你？”

　　“因为我使用魔法。”

　　“啊哈！”维能姨父叫道，同时把他的拳头重重的打在冰箱的上面，一些属于达德里的低热量小吃倒了出来并且洒在地板上。“因此你用了魔法！你对达德里干了什么？”

　　“什么也没干，”哈利说道，他的声音已经有一点缺乏冷静，“那不是我—”

　　“是你。”达德里毫无征兆的嘟噜起来，维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈立刻示意哈利安静，并同时把腰弯到达德里上方。

　　“接着说，儿子。”维能姨父说道，“他干了什么？”

　　“告诉我们，亲爱的，”帕尤妮亚姨妈也小声说着。

　　“他用魔杖指着我。”达德里小声嘟噜。

　　“是的，我这么做了，但是我并没有使用—”哈利开始愤怒了，但是—

　　“闭嘴！”维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈一起叫道。

　　“接着说，儿子，”维能姨父重复了一遍，他的小胡子因狂怒而翘了起来。

　　“一切都变黑了，”达德里嘶哑的尖叫着，浑身颤抖。“一切都变黑了。然后我就听见—听见有个声音在我脑子里。”

　　维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈交换了一个绝对恐怖的眼神。如果他们在这个世界上最深恶痛绝的就是魔法的话—这一条对他们撒谎多过做事的邻居而言，则紧随其后的是禁用软管的法令（因为干旱而出台的禁用自来水给花圃浇水的法令）—人们在这种事情上总是爱憎分明。杜斯利夫妇很显然的认为达德里已经丧失理智了。

　　“你听见什么了？”帕尤妮亚姨妈脸色苍白，眼睛里充满泪水说道。

　　但是达德里看样子没能力再说下去了。他再一次的浑身发抖并使劲摇晃着他那棵肥大的金发碧眼的脑袋，尽管自从第一只猫头鹰到达之后，对恐惧的麻木感就一直盘踞着哈利，他还是感到了某种程度的好奇。摄魂怪让一个人重新经历他一生中最糟糕的时刻。那个从小被宠溺，饮食过量，欺凌弱小的达德里被迫听见的会是什么呢？

　　“那么你接下来是怎样头朝下摔倒的呢，儿子？”维能姨父用一种异乎寻常的平静口气问道，这种口气他只在垂危病人的身边才会采用。

　　“脚绊倒的，”达德里虚弱不堪的说道。“而且后来—”

　　他的手指着肥胖的胸部。哈利明白了。达德里正在回忆起那种充满肺部的湿粘的寒冷，并且所有的快乐都从他体内被吸走。

　　“太恐怖了，”达德里嘶哑的叫道。“寒冷。真正的寒冷。”

　　“好的，”维能姨父以一种强迫自己平静的语调说道，而与此同时帕尤妮亚姨妈焦虑的把一只手放在达德里的额头上以感觉他的体温。“然后发生了什么，达德里？”

　　“感到—感到—感到仿佛—仿佛地狱”

　　“仿佛你再也不会有快乐。”哈利迟钝的补充着。

　　“是的，“达德里小声说道，身体仍然在发抖。

　　“因此！”维能姨父的声音恢复了那种高亢的调门，好象他正在澄清事实。“你在我的儿子身上使用了某些疯狂的咒语，因此他听到了某种声音，并且认为他是—是注定命运悲惨，或是别的什么，是吗？““你要我告诉你多少次啊？”哈利说道，他的脾气和声音都提高了，“那不是我！那是两只摄魂怪！”

　　“两只—你在胡言乱语什么？”

　　“摄—魂—怪，”哈利说得清晰而缓慢，“两只。”

　　“那么这种地狱里的生物是干什么的？”

　　“他们守卫巫师监狱，阿滋卡班。”帕尤妮亚姨妈说道。

　　在说完这些话并经过两秒钟的安静之后，帕尤妮亚姨妈捂住了自己的嘴，仿佛她让一个令人厌恶的诅咒从嘴里滑了出来。维能姨父瞪大眼睛看着她。哈利的大脑一阵眩晕。费格太太已经是一次了—难道帕尤妮亚姨妈也是吗？““你是怎么知道这事的？”他惊讶的问帕尤妮亚姨妈。

　　帕尤妮亚姨妈也十分惊异的看着自己。她用一种害怕的歉意盯着维能姨父，然后轻轻的放下手并露出了她马一样的牙齿。

　　“我听见—那个可怕的小子—在很多年前告诉她关于摄魂怪的事，”她迟疑的说道。

　　“如果你说的是我的父母，为何不用他们的名字？”哈利大声说道，可是帕尤妮亚姨妈没理他。她看上去恐惧而慌乱。哈利晕了。除了一年前的那次爆发以外，哈利从未听帕尤妮亚姨妈提及过自己的母亲，而仅有的那一次，姨妈高声尖叫说哈利的母亲是个思想怪诞的人。哈利十分惊讶，当帕尤妮亚姨妈尽其所能假装那个魔法世界是完全不存在的时候，她居然还能记得多年以前听过的有关魔法世界的只鳞片羽的信息。

　　维能姨父张嘴，又闭上，再张嘴，又再一次闭上，很显然他不知如何说，当他第三次张嘴的时候他终于嘶哑的说道：“因此—因此—他们—他们是—他们是真的存在，他们是—现实存在的？”

　　帕尤妮亚姨妈点点头。

　　维能姨父从帕尤妮亚姨妈看到达德里再看到哈利，仿佛希望有人告诉他这是“四月愚人节”。当看到没有人这么做的时候，他再一次开口了，但是他好不容易找到的贫乏的谚语被今晚第三只猫头鹰的来访打断了。它象一棵有羽毛的加农炮弹一样从仍然开着的窗户冲下来，并且停在了厨房的桌子上，这使的杜斯利一家三口都害怕的跳起来。哈利从这只猫头鹰的嘴上取下了第二封象官方文件的信，并且在猫头鹰再次突然返回夜空的时候拆开了信。

　　“够了—快滚—猫头鹰，”维能姨父叫道，它冲到窗户前面并且再一次重重的关上了窗户。

　　亲爱的波特先生：

　　在你二十二分钟之前收到我们的信件之后，我们更深入的进行了研究，魔法部修改了立即摧毁你的魔杖的决定。你可以保留你的魔杖直至你参加8月12日的听证会，在那个时候我们将作出一个官方决定。

　　另外在与霍格瓦彻魔法学校校长进行讨论之后，魔法部同意将是否开除你的问题也延后至那时决定。你在学校还未作出决定之前，因此被认定为暂缓离校。

　　致以最美好的祝愿

　　你真诚的

　　马法尔达·霍普凯克

　　魔法部不适当使用魔法办公室

　　哈利很快的将这封信读了三遍。随着他得知自己并非明确除名之后，在他心里那个痛苦的疙瘩稍稍放松了，尽管这并不意味着他的害怕就此消除。看起来在8月12日的听证会上任何事都是有可能发生的。

　　“怎么样？”维能姨父的话将哈利拉回了现实。“现在怎么样？他们怎样宣判你的？是否你的行为被判处死刑了？”他在后面加上了一个充满希望的联想。

　　“我要出席一个听证会，”哈利说道。

　　“那么他们会在那儿宣判你吗？”

　　“我想是的。”

　　“那么我们还没有丧失希望，”维能姨父不怀好意的说。

　　“好吧，如果没事的话，”哈利说着迈开了脚步。他要一个人静一静来思考对策，也许应当寄封信给罗恩、荷