CHAPTER TWO
burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from
head to foot in Aunt Petunia’s pudding.
At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to
gloss the whole thing over. (“Just our nephew — very disturbed —
meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs. . . .”) He
shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised
Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Ma-
sons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice
cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, started scrubbing
the kitchen clean.
Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal — if it
hadn’t been for the owl.
Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner
mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room
window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason’s head, and swooped out
again. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house
shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell
the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes
and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.
Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support, as
Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.
“Read it!” he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had de-
livered. “Go on — read it!”
Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greetings.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was
used at your place of residence this evening at twelve min-
utes past nine.
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