Harry went down to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys already sitting around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, who had been complaining loudly about the long walk between the fridge and the television in the living room. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, his piggy little eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually.

Harry sat down between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of mustache. Far from wishing Harry a happy birthday, none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed Harry enter the room, but Harry was far too used to this to care. He helped himself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict.

“…the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately.”

“No need to tell us he's no good,” snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. “Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!”

He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry felt very well groomed indeed.

The reporter had reappeared.

“The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today —”

“Hang on!” barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. “You didn't tell us where that maniac's escaped from! What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!”

Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. Harry knew Aunt Petunia would simply love to be the one to call the hot line number. She was the nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spying on the boring, law-abiding neighbors.

“When will they learn,” said Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his large purple fist, “that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?”

“Very true,” said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into next door's runner-beans.

Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added, “I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten.”

Harry, whose thoughts had been upstairs with the Broomstick Servicing Kit, was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump.

“Aunt Marge?” he blurted out. “Sh-she's not coming here, is she?”

Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Harry's (whose mother had been Aunt Petunia's sister), he had been forced to call her ‘Aunt’ all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly vividly in Harry's mind.

At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Margo had whacked Harry around the shins with her walking stick to stop him from beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harry started at Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally trodden on the tail of her favorite dog. Ripper had chased Harry out into the garden and up a tree, and Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until past midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears of laughter to Dudley's eyes.

“Marge'll be here for a week,” Uncle Vernon snarled, “and while we're on the subject,” he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry, “we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her.”

Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from the television. Watching Harry being bullied by Uncle Vernon was Dudley's favorite form of entertainment.

“Firstly,” growled Uncle Vernon, “you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge.”

“All right,” said Harry bitterly, “if she does when she's talking to me.”

“Secondly,” said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, “as Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any — any funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?”

“I will if she does,” said Harry through gritted teeth.

“And thirdly,” said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, “we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.”

“What?” Harry yelled.

“And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble,” spat Uncle Vernon.

Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it. Aunt Marge coming for a weeklong visit — it was the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him, including that pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

“Well, Petunia,” said Uncle Vernon, getting heavily to his feet, “I'll be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride, Dudders?”

“No,” said Dudley, whose attention had returned to the television now that Uncle Vernon had finished threatening Harry.

“Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie,” said Aunt Petunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. “Mummy's bought him a lovely new bow-tie.”

Uncle Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky shoulder.

“See you in a bit, then,” he said, and he left the kitchen.

Harry, who had been sitting in a kind of horrified trance, had a sudden idea. Abandoning his toast, he got quickly to his feet and followed Uncle Vernon to the front door.

Uncle Vernon was pulling on his car coat.

“I'm not taking you,” he snarled as he turned to see Harry watching him.

“Like I wanted to come,” said Harry coldly. “I want to ask you something.”

Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously.

“Third years at Hog — at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes,” said Harry.

“So?” snapped Uncle Vernon, taking his car keys from a hook next to the door.

“I need you to sign the permission form,” said Harry in a rush.

“And why should I do that?” sneered Uncle Vernon.

“Well,” said Harry, choosing his words carefully, “it'll be hard work, pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits.…”

“St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys!” bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was pleased to hear a definite note of panic in Uncle Vernon's voice.

“Exactly,” said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon's large, purple face. “It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I accidentally let something slip?”

“You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?” roared Uncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. But Harry stood his ground.

“Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her,” he said grimly.

Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ugly puce.

“But if you sign my permission form,” Harry went on quickly, “I swear Ill remember where I'm supposed to go to school, and Ill act like a Mug — like I'm normal and everything.”

Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking it over, even if his teeth were bared and a vein was throbbing in his temple.

“Right,” he snapped finally. “I shall monitor your behavior carefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of it, you've toed the line and kept to the story, Ill sign your ruddy form.”

He wheeled around, pulled open the front door, and slammed it so hard that one of the little panes of glass at the top fell out.

Harry didn't return to the kitchen. He went back upstairs to his bedroom. If he was going to act like a real Muggle, heed better start now. Slowly and sadly he gathered up all his presents and his birthday cards and hid them under the loose floorboard with his homework. Then he went to Hedwig's cage. Errol seemed to have recovered; he and Hedwig were both asleep, heads under their wings. Harry sighed, then poked them both awake.

“Hedwig,” he said gloomily, “you're going to have to clear off for a week. Go with Errol. Ron'll look after you. Ill write him a note, explaining. And don't look at me like that” — Hedwig's large amber eyes were reproachful — “it's not my fault. It's the only way I'll be allowed to visit Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione.”

Ten minutes later, Errol and Hedwig (who had a note to Ron bound to her leg) soared out of the window and out of sight. Harry, now feeling thoroughly miserable, put the empty cage away inside the wardrobe.

But Harry didn't have long to brood. In next to no time, Aunt Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for Harry to come down and get ready to welcome their guest.

“Do something about your hair!” Aunt Petunia snapped as he reached the hall.

Harry couldn't see the point of trying to make his hair lie flat. Aunt Marge loved criticizing him, so the untidier he looked, the happier she would be.

All too soon, there was a crunch of gravel outside as Uncle Vernon's car pulled back into the driveway, then the clunk of the car doors and footsteps on the garden path.

“Get the door!” Aunt Petunia hissed at Harry.

A feeling of great gloom in his stomach, Harry pulled the door open.

On the threshold stood Aunt Marge. She was very like Uncle Vernon: large, beefy, and purple-faced, she even had a mustache, though not as bushy as his. In one hand she held an enormous suitcase, and tucked under the other was an old and evil-tempered bulldog.

“Where's my Dudders?” roared Aunt Marge. “Where's my neffy poo?”

Dudley came waddling down the hall, his blond hair plastered flat to his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. Aunt Marge thrust the suitcase into Harry's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek.

Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with Aunt Marge's hugs because he was well paid for it, and sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist.

“Petunia!” shouted Aunt Marge, striding past Harry as though he was a hat-stand. Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia kissed, or rather, Aunt Marge bumped her large jaw against Aunt Petunias bony cheekbone.

Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door.

“Tea, Marge?” he said. “And what will Ripper take?”

“Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer,” said Aunt Marge as they all proceeded into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone in the hall with the suitcase. But Harry wasn't complaining; any excuse not to be with Aunt Marge was fine by him, so he began to heave the case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as he could.

By the time he got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily in the corner. Harry saw Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals.

“Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?” Uncle Vernon asked.

“Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them,” boomed Aunt Marge. “He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me.”

Ripper began to growl again as Harry sat down. This directed Aunt Marge's attention to Harry for the first time.

“So!” she barked. “Still here, are you?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Don't you say “yes” in that ungrateful tone,” Aunt Marge growled. “It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep.”

Harry was bursting to say that he'd rather live in an orphanage than with the Dursleys, but the thought of the Hogsmeade form stopped him. He forced his face into a painful smile.

“Don't you smirk at me!” boomed Aunt Marge. “I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you.” She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache, and said, “Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?”

“St. Brutus's,” said Uncle Vernon promptly. “It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases.”

“I see,” said Aunt Marge. “Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?” she barked across the table.

“Er —”

Uncle Vernon nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge's back.

“Yes,” said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well do the thing properly, he added, “All the time.”

“Excellent,” said Aunt Marge. “I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry, “loads of times.”

Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes.

“I still don't like your tone, boy,” she said. “If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case.”

Perhaps Uncle Vernon was worried that Harry might forget their bargain; in any case, he changed the subject abruptly.

“Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?”

　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*

As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Aunt Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement. She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person.

“You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon,” she said over lunch on the third day. “If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it.”

Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger. Remember the form, he told himself. Think about Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't rise —

Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine.

“It's one of the basic rules of breeding,” she said. “You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup —”

At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping.

“Marge!” squealed Aunt Petunia. “Marge, are you all right?”

“Not to worry,” grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. “Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip.…”

But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking at Harry suspiciously, so he decided he'd better skip dessert and escape from the table as soon as he could.

Outside in the hall, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. It had been a long time since he'd lost control and made something explode. He couldn't afford to let it happen again. The Hogsmeade form wasn't the only thing at stake — if he carried on like that, he'd be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic.

Harry was still an underage wizard, and he was forbidden by wizard law to do magic outside school. His record wasn't exactly clean either. Only last summer he'd gotten an official warning that had stated quite clearly that if the Ministry got wind of any more magic in Privet Drive, Harry would face expulsion from Hogwarts.

He heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way.

　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*

Harry got through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal.

At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge's stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them a with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.

“Can I tempt you, Marge?”

Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red.

“Just a small one, then,” she chuckled. “A bit more than that…and a bit more…that's the ticket.”

Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Aunt Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out. Harry really wanted to disappear into his bedroom, but he met Uncle Vernon's angry little eyes and knew he would have to sit it out.

“Aah,” said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. “Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after…” She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. “Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy,” she went on, winking at Dudley. “You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon…”

“Now, this one here —”

She jerked her head at Harry, who felt his stomach clench. The Handbook, he thought quickly.

“This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred.”

Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers.

“It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia” — she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one “but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us.”

Harry was staring at his plate, a funny ringing in his ears. Grasp your broom firmly by the tail, he thought. But he couldn't remember what came next. Aunt Marge's voice seemed to be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon's drills.

“This Potter,” said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, “you never told me what he did?”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.

“He — didn't work,” said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. “Unemployed.”

“As I expected!” said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. “A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who —”

“He was not,” said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life.

“MORE BRANDY!” yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. “You, boy,” he snarled at Harry. “Go to bed, go on —”

“No, Vernon,” hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. “Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) —”

“They didn't die in a car crash!” said Harry, who found himself on his feet.

“They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!” screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. “You are an insolent, ungrateful little —”

But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger — but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech — next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls — she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami…

“MARGE!” yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg.

Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters.

“COME BACK IN HERE!” he bellowed. “COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!”

But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon.

“She deserved it,” Harry said, breathing very fast. “She deserved what she got. You keep away from me.”

He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door.

“I'm going,” Harry said. “I've had enough.”

And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.


第二天，哈利下楼去吃早餐，姨丈、姨妈、达德里坐在餐厅的桌子旁了，他们在看一部新的名牌电视机，那是送给达德里回家度暑假的礼物，达德里一直在大声埋怨从餐厅的冰箱到电视机的客厅要走太久。达德里把暑假的大部分时间花在餐厅里，他那贪心的小眼凝视看屏幕，吃东西的时候他尖尖的下巴不停地摇晃。

　　哈利在达德里和维能姨丈间坐下来，维能是一个高大而强壮的男人，有一条很小的颈和浓厚的胡子，不要说祝哈利生日快乐，他们连一声招呼也没对哈利说，像没看到一样。哈刮早已经习以为常，因此也不在乎了。他拿起一片面包吃，看着电视中的新闻报导员，他正在报导一个逃犯的消息。

　　“……警察提醒大家，巴拉克有携带武器，是个危险人物。一条特别热线已经建立，有谁看到巴拉克清立即通知。”

　　“说他坏是废话。”维能姨丈哼了一声，瞪着在报纸顶部的罪犯说：“看他那副样子，十足的无业游民，你看他的头发！”

　　他斜看了哈利一眼，他那满头乱发，总是让维能姨丈反感。但电视上的那人，他消瘦的脸黯然无光，头发像是海带丝一样，哈利暗自为自己的模样高兴。

　　新闻报导员又在屏幕出现了。

　　“下面是农业部和渔业部的消息——”

　　“慢着！”维能姨丈吼道，愤怒地瞪着播音员说：“你还没有说那疯狂子从哪里逃出来的，那有什么用呢？”鲁内特邻居正从那街上走来。

　　帕尤妮亚姨妈是一位很瘦，脸型像马脸的女人，她从餐厅的窗口快速往外望，哈利知道帕尤妮亚会喜欢成为那热线电话的成员。

　　她是世界上最爱热闹的人，有时候她会把一天大部分的时间花在偷窥邻居上。

　　“他们什么时候才能发现。”维能姨丈说着，紫色的拳头重重地打在桌子上，“那怎样处置这些该死的人？”

　　“那可真是。”帕尤妮亚姨妈说，她仍在无聊的斜视在邻居的东西上。

　　维能姨丈喝完他的茶，看着手表又说：“我快要走了，帕尤妮亚，玛务的火车在十点钟到站。”

　　哈利正想着楼上的扫帚维护箱，被这一句话惊醒过来。“玛各姨妈？”他脱口而出，“她不是来这儿吧？”

　　玛各姨妈是维能姨丈的妹妹，虽然她跟哈利没有血缘关系（他妈妈是帕尤妮亚姨妈的妹妹），但他也被逼一辈子叫她“姨妈”了，玛各住在乡村里，房子里有一个大花园那里养着大狼狗，她很少离开那里，因为她不能忍受离开她的宝贝狗，但她的每次光临都会给哈利留下恐怖的印象。

　　在达德里五岁生日派对上，玛各姨妈用她的手杖狠狠地打哈利的腹部，说要他在音乐表演上输给达德里。几年后的一个圣诞节，她给了达德里一个电动化的机器人，只给哈利一盒饼干。她上一次的到访是在哈利上霍格瓦彻学校的前一年。哈利不小心踩到她喜爱的狗的爪子上，那狗追着哈利到花园，直到他爬上树，玛各一直到半夜才把狗拉开，让他下来。达德里一想到那次就笑到流眼泪。

　　“玛各会在这儿待一个星期，”维能姨丈大声说，“说到这个问题上，”他的肥手指威胁地指着哈利，“我们需要把几件事说清楚再去接她。”

　　达德里的视线离开电视，在一旁冷笑着。看着哈利被维能姨丈训导是他最大的快乐。

　　“第一，”维能姨丈大声说，“对玛各说话时要礼貌点。”

　　“好的。”哈利痛苦地说，“如果她也这样对我的话。”

　　“第二，”维能姨文说，好像没听到哈利的回答一样：“由于玛各不知道你的情况，因此我不想她看到任何荒谬的东西，你小心点，知道吗？”

　　“如果她也这样的话，我也会。”哈利的牙齿轧轧地响。

　　“第三，”维能姨丈那卑鄙的小眼在紫红色的脸上转了一圈，“我们已经告诉玛各你在为矫正青少年罪犯而设立的圣。布鲁特斯保安中心读书。“”什么？“哈利大声嚷。

　　“你要坚持这故事，要不你会有麻烦的。”维能姨丈说。

　　哈利坐在那儿带着苍白的脸愤怒地瞪着维能姨丈，他几乎不能相信，玛各姨妈要到这里住一个星期，那是达德里一家给他最坏的生日礼物。

　　“好了，帕尤妮亚。”维能姨丈说，重重地踏在地上，“我要去车站了，达德里，你要跟着一同去吗？”

　　“不！”达德里说，在维能姨丈威胁完哈利之后，他的注意力回到电视上。

　　“达德里，你要在姨妈面前乖点。”帕尤妮亚姨妈揉着达德里的头发说，“妈妈给你买一条可爱的领带。”

　　维能姨丈轻轻拍了拍达德里的肥肩膀。

　　“那晚一点再见了。”他说，然后离开了餐厅。

　　哈利精神恍惚地坐在那儿，他有主意了，丢开他的面包片，他站起来跟着维能姨丈到前门。

　　维能姨丈拉开他的车套。

　　“我不会带你去的。”当他转向哈利看着他的时候，他咆哮道。

　　“你以为我要去吗？”哈利冷冷地说，“我要问你一些东西。”

　　维能怀疑地看着他。

　　“在霍格瓦彻的第三年，我们可以进去参观那些村庄。”哈利说。

　　“那又怎样？”他边说边从门旁的一个约里取下车钥匙来。

　　“我想你在同意书上签个名字。”哈利冲动地说。

　　“我为什么要那样做？”维能姨丈冷笑道。

　　“哎，”哈利说，小心翼翼地选择词语，“在玛各姨妈面前假装我上那圣。华西德学校将会挺难的……”

　　“不可救药的犯罪青年上的圣。华西德保安学校！”维能姨丈大声吼，哈利听到维能姨丈话中的愤怒感觉到一丝满意。

　　“好极了，”哈利平静地看着维能姨文又大又紫的脸。“我得记住很多东西。

　　我要假装让她相信，不是吗？如果我不小心泄露点什么的话怎么办呢？“

　　“我要用东西来塞住你的嘴是吗？”维能姨丈咆哮道，举起拳头向哈利走近，但哈利镇定地站着。

　　“你把我的口塞住，玛各姨妈也会知道这些事的。”他镇定地说。

　　维能停下来了，他的拳头仍举着，脸呈紫褐色。

　　“但是如果你在同意书上签上名字的话，”哈利迅速地说，“我发誓我会说我在那上学，而且我会扮成‘马格人’——像所有正常人和正常事一样。”

　　哈利可以看出维能姨丈正在考虑，虽然他的牙齿露出来并且静脉在他的太阳穴中震动着。

　　“好，”他最后吼道，“我会监视着你在玛各面前的行为的。如果到最后你没有泄露出来，并且假装得好的话，我就在那鬼表格上签名。”

　　他徘徊了一会儿，然后打开前门用力一关，车窗上的一些小玻璃碎片掉了下来。

　　哈利没有回到餐厅。他回到楼上的卧室里面，如果他真要扮“马格人”他最好现在就开始，他伤心地拎起所有的礼物和生日卡，把它们跟课本、作业一样藏在那块松了的地砖下面。然后他走到海维的笼子旁，厄罗尔看上去已经恢复了，他正与海维甜甜地睡着。

　　哈利把手理在翅膀下面，吸了口气，然后把他们弄醒。

　　“海维，”他沮丧地说，“你可以放假一个星期了，和厄罗尔去吧，罗恩会照顾你的。我会给他写一张便条，向他解释……请不要那样看着我，”海维的琥珀色的大眼睛正谴责地看着他。“这不是我的错，这是可以去参观霍格马得村庄的唯一途径。”

　　十分钟后，厄罗尔和脚上系着给罗思的纸条的海线飞出窗外在眼中消失了。哈利十分沮丧，把空鸟笼放人衣柜里面。

　　哈利没有长时间来思考还有些什么要做的，这时帕尤妮亚姨妈大声向楼上喊叫他下来迎接客人。

　　“梳理一下你的头！”帕尤妮亚姨妈在他到门口的时候大声喊。

　　哈利似乎不能把他的头发弄直，玛各姨妈很喜欢批评他，因而他越脏，她就显得越高兴。

　　就在他很为难的时候，维能姨丈的车停在门口，车门发出沉浊碰击声之后，就下了车道上了花园的小道上。

　　“开车门。”帕尤妮亚姨妈向哈利呵责。

　　哈利怔怔站了一下，然后拉开车门。

　　玛各站在门槛上。她长得很像维能姨丈，很健壮，一张紫色的脸，还长有胡子，但没有维能姨丈那样浓密，她一手提着一个很大的手提箱，箱子下面站着那凶恶的老狼犬。

　　“我可爱的达德里呢？”玛各大声喊，“他在哪儿呢？”

　　达德里摇摇摆摆地来到客厅，他那红色的头发像药膏一样贴在头上，那领带勉强可以从他肥肥的下巴中露出来。玛各姨妈用力把手提箱推到哈利的肘上，在他身边散发出一阵香水味。她一手紧紧扭住达德里，在他脸上狠狠地吻了一下。

　　哈利非常清楚达德里在熬着那可怕的吻，不过他有报酬的。

　　看，他们松开时，达德里手上就拿着一张二十镑的新钞票了。

　　“帕尤妮亚！”玛各姨妈大声喊道，大步经过哈利，犹如他是一个衣架似的，玛各姨妈吻了帕尤妮亚一下，确切地说，玛各姨妈把她强大的下巴撞在帕尤妮亚瘦瘦的下巴上。

　　维能姨丈走了进来，关门时高兴地笑着。

　　“要茶吗？玛各？”他说，“税皮要吃些什么？”

　　“税皮只吃我给它茶果酱的茶。”玛各姨妈说道。这时他们让哈利一个人拿着手提箱在客厅站着，走进了餐厅了。但是哈利并没有埋怨些什么，只要不要跟玛各姨妈在一起就是好事。因而他开始把重重的手提箱提到那空房里，并且逗留在那儿。

　　当他回到餐厅的时候，玛各姨妈已经在喝茶和吃水果蛋糕了。

　　税皮在墙角嬉闹地拍动着。哈利看见帕尤妮亚姨妈喝茶时显得有点畏惧，税皮的口水滴到干净的地板上，帕尤妮亚讨厌动物。

　　“谁替你照顾其它的狗呢，玛各？”维能姨丈问。

　　“噢，我叫弗波斯特上尉看着它们，”玛各姨妈像大宣传一样说，“他现在退休了，有些事干对他有好处。但我不能离开可怜的税皮，它离开我会消瘦的。”

　　税皮看到哈利坐下来的时候吠了一声，这第一次把玛各姨妈的注意力转到哈利身上。

　　“哈利！”她咆哮道，“你居然还在？”

　　“是的。”哈利说。

　　“不要那样让人讨厌地说‘是的’。”玛各姨妈吼道，“维能和帕尤妮亚继续养你已经太仁慈了，我才不会那样做呢，如果你走进我门口一步，我会直接把你送到孤儿院去。”

　　哈利刚要说他宁愿住孤儿院也不要与杜斯利一家人住，但想到霍格马得的事，他又把话吞下去了。他强迫自己苦笑一下。

　　“你不要向我嚷，”玛各姨妈埋怨说，“我可以看出从上次见你以后你根本没有进步过，我希望学校可以把礼貌装进作的脑袋里面。”她大大地吞了一口茶，擦了擦她的胡子又说：“再说一次，你把他送到哪一间学校，维能？”

　　“在圣。布鲁斯特，”维能姨丈很爽快地回答，“那是给没有希望的孩子的一级学院了。”

　　“我明白。”玛各姨妈说，“他们在圣。布鲁特斯用藤条惩罚学生吗？”

　　“嗯——”

　　维能姨丈在玛各姨妈后面简略地点点头。

　　“是的，”哈利说，然后他加上一些更让她相信的话，“任何时候都用。”

　　“太好了。”玛各姨妈说，“我不会把这傻话说出来的。百分之九十九人都被痛打过，你也经常被打吗？”

　　“哦，是啊，很多次了。”哈利回答说。

　　玛各姨妈眯着眼睛。

　　“我仍然不喜欢你说话的语调，孩子，”她说：“如果你可以那样随便说你给痛打了，说明他们还打得不够狠，帕尤妮亚，如果我是你的话，我会写信去说明在这孩子身上要用严刑。”

　　也许维能姨丈担心哈利忘了他们的交易，立即匆匆地转过话题。

　　“玛各，今天听到新闻了吗？那逃犯怎样了，哦？”

　　当玛各姨妈在这儿住下来的时候，哈利就一直盼望四号快点到来，那时她要离开了。维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈通常叫哈利不要靠近他们，哈利当然也很乐意。玛各姨妈却相反。总想哈利在她眼前，因而她可以咕啃一番让他进步的建议。她很喜欢拿哈利和达德里比，而且以在哈利面前买贵重礼物给达德里为乐。虽然她会让哈利问为什么不给他买礼物。她也总是给哈利暗示他是一个十分让人不满意的人。

　　“你不应该为这孩子变成这样而资各自己的，维能。”第二天她在吃午餐的时候说：“如果里面的东西腐坏了，没有人能够拯救它。”

　　哈利努力集中注意力于食物上，但是他的手开始抖动。他的脸也现出愤怒。记住那张表格，他告诉自己，想想霍格马得村庄，不要说话，不要站起来——玛各姨妈伸手去拿她的酒。

　　“这是事物的基本规则。”她说，“看着这些狗，如果母狗有问题，狗急子也会有问题——”

　　忽然，玛各姨妈手中的酒杯爆开，玻璃碎片向四方飞去，玛各姨妈胡乱地说着，她眨着眼睛，红润的脸往下垂。

　　“玛各。”帕尤妮亚姨妈尖叫，“玛各，你没事吧？”

　　“不要担心。”玛各姨妈抱怨说，她用手巾在脸上擦着。

　　“一定是抓得太紧了，那天在弗波斯特上尉家也发生过，不要大惊小怪的，帕尤妮亚，我的拳头很强硬。”

　　但是帕尤妮亚姨妈和维能姨文奇怪地看了看哈利，他们决定取消布了，尽快离开桌子。

　　客厅外面，哈利靠在墙上，深深地呼吸着，他上次失去控制让东西爆开是很久以前的事了。他不能让它再发生了，那霍格马得表格不是唯一的原因，如果他继续这样，他会被霍格瓦彻学校开除的。

　　哈利仍是未成年的巫师，他被禁止在学校外施法的，他的记录也不是清白的，就在去年暑假，他被正式警告如果他再在校外施法的话，将会被逐出霍格瓦彻学校的。

　　他听到杜斯利一家离开餐桌，他立刻上楼去逃避。

　　哈利剩余的三天想着他那本《扫帚维护手册》，尤其是玛各姨妈盯着他的时候，这很有效，虽然这使他看起来很迟钝，因为玛各姨妈开始称他精神有点问题。

　　终于熬到最后了，到了玛各姨妈留下的最后一个晚上。帕尤妮亚姨妈煮了丰盛的一餐，维能姨文开了几瓶酒，他们一直地吃，从汤到挂肉，没有人提及哈利的错失。在吃柠檬水果派的时候，维能姨文不停地说他的银行，他的钻孔机公司。然后帕尤妮亚姨妈煮咖啡，维能姨丈拿出一瓶白兰地，大家都听得发腻了。

　　“再干一杯，玛各。”

　　玛各姨妈已经喝了很多酒了，她的脸很红。

　　“那就再来一小杯吧。”她咯咯地笑。“再多一点，多一点，真乖。”

　　达德里在吃他第四块馅饼了，帕尤妮亚姨妈在吸咖啡，她的小手指指向外面。

　　哈利真想回到自己的房子里面，但他看到维能姨丈生气的小眼睛时，他知道他要坐下去的。

　　“啊，”玛各姨妈说，轻轻擦着唇并放下那空的白兰地玻璃杯。

　　“极好的小吃，帕尤妮亚，通常我一吃完饭就要喂那十只狗……”

　　她大声地打噎，手拍拍肚子前的斜纹软呢服，“失陪一会儿，但我想再看看那健康的男孩。”她给达德里使眼色继续说：“你会长成一个身材标准的男人，达德里，就像你爸爸一样。是的，我再要一点白兰地，维能。”

　　“但这个嘛——”

　　她的头猛伸向哈利，哈利觉得胃在抽筋动，那手册，他立即想。

　　“这个可恶又矮小的男人。你看有些狗，去年我叫弗波斯特上尉把它溺死，那东西又小又弱，不够营养。”

　　哈利尽力去想他那本《治疗强忍者妙法》的第十二页。

　　“那天我在洪水来临时说，这可恶洪水会过去的，现在，现在，帕尤妮亚，我想没有什么事会与你的家庭过不去的了，”她用她那铲子似的手拍拍帕尤妮亚露骨的手。“但你妹妹是一个笨蛋。她住在最好的家庭里面。但她带着一件废物逃来，看，就在眼前。”

　　哈利盯着他的蝶子，无聊的声音在耳边响起，他紧紧拿着那扫帚的尾端，他想，玛各的声音就像维能的钻孔机一样让人烦闷。

　　“那个波特，”玛各姨妈大声说，她拿着白兰地瓶给她的杯子满满倒了一杯，还有很多溅到桌布上，“你没有告诉我他做过什么？”

　　维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈变得很紧张，达德里甚至从水果盘中抬起头来看着他的父母。

　　“他——他没有工作。”维能姨丈说，瞥了哈利一眼说，“失业的。”

　　“如我所想的一样。”玛各说，大大地喝了一口白兰地，用衣袖擦擦下巴，“一个无所作为的，一天是处的懒乞丐——”

　　“他并不是这样的，”哈利突然说话了，全桌的人变得安静下来了。哈利全身颤抖，他从没有如此生气的。

　　“再来杯白兰地！”维能嚷道，他脸色苍白，他把酒全倒进玛各姨妈的林子里，“你，这小子。”他吼道，“你回房间去，走——”

　　“维能，不要。”玛各打了个饱嗝，抬起一手，她含血的眼注视着哈利，“小子，接着说吧，你为你父母骄傲是吗？他们给车撞死了，可能是酒后开车，我想——”

　　“他们并不是死于车祸的。”哈利已经站起来了说。

　　“他们是死于车祸的，你这下流的撒谎者。而你这却成了他们的负担，糟糕的亲戚。”玛各尖声骂着，充满狂热，“你这个无礼不知廉耻的家伙——”

　　但是突然玛各停止说话了，好一阵子，好像她不能说话一样。

　　她好像被不能表达的语言噎住了，但是她的激烈并没有停下来。她那张大而红的脸开始膨胀。她的小眼突出来了。她的口紧紧地张开要说话，随着她斜纹软呢服中几个扭扣破裂并向墙砰的一声飞出去。她的肚子随腰带的破裂而膨胀，她的手指像意大利腊肠一样膨胀。

　　“玛各，”维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈齐喊，玛各的身体开始脱离椅子向天花板升上去，她现在是圆滚滚的，像个带着猪眼睛的浮标。她的手脚在上升时不可思议地张开，得中风症一样。税皮滑进饭厅，发疯狂般吠着。

　　“不要！”

　　维能姨丈抓着玛各的脚想要把她拉下来。但他又差点被拉上去。随着，税皮已经跃起来咬着维能姨丈的腿。

　　哈利走出饭厅，在被制止之前已经向橱柜走去，当他走近的时候，橱柜着魔般自动打开。没几秒，他举起他的皮箱放在前门，他猛冲上楼，并扑到床下面，猛揭开那松动的地砖，拿起枕头套里的书和他的生日卡。他爬出来，抓着海线的空笼子然后猛冲回楼下的皮箱前，那时维能姨丈被推出饭厅，他的裤子成了带着血的破布。

　　“回来。”他吼道，“你回来，恢复她的样子！”

　　但是哈利已经很冲动了，他踢开他的皮箱，拉出他的魔杖，并指向维能姨丈。

　　“她活该。”哈利说，他呼吸十分急速，“她是应该受到惩罚的，你不要靠近我。”

　　他摸索门的手柄。

　　“我要走了。”哈利说，“这里太可恶了。”

　　然后，他走进了漆黑的夜里，在静静的大街上，他提起重重的皮箱。他手臂下面是那个鸟笼。

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