THE WORST BIRTHDAY
The huge eyes blinked and vanished.
“What?” said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where they
had been.
“I know what day it is,” Dudley repeated, coming right up to
him.
“Well done,” said Harry. “So you’ve finally learned the days of
the week.”
“Today’s your birthday,” sneered Dudley. “How come you
haven’t got any cards? Haven’t you even got friends at that freak
place?”
“Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school,”
said Harry coolly.
Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his
fat bottom.
“Why’re you staring at the hedge?” he said suspiciously.
“I’m trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on
fire,” said Harry.
Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat
face.
“You c-can’t — Dad told you you’re not to do m-magic — he
said he’ll chuck you out of the house — and you haven’t got any-
where else to go — you haven’t got any friends to take you —”
“Jiggery pokery!” said Harry in a fierce voice. “Hocus pocus —
squiggly wiggly —”
“MUUUUUUM!” howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he
dashed back toward the house. “MUUUUM! He’s doing you know
what!”
Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor
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