CHAPTER SIX
they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five broth-
ers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”
Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which
was asleep.
“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up.
Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they
couldn’t aff— I mean, I got Scabbers instead.”
Ron’s ears went pink. He seemed to think he’d said too much,
because he went back to staring out of the window.
Harry didn’t think there was anything wrong with not being
able to afford an owl. After all, he’d never had any money in his life
until a month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear
Dudley’s old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents.
This seemed to cheer Ron up.
“. . . and until Hagrid told me, I didn’t know anything about be-
ing a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort —”
Ron gasped.
“What?” said Harry.
“You said You-Know-Who’s name!” said Ron, sounding both
shocked and impressed. “I’d have thought you, of all people —”
“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” said
Harry, “I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got
loads to learn. . . . I bet,” he added, voicing for the first time some-
thing that had been worrying him a lot lately, “I bet I’m the worst
in the class.”
“You won’t be. There’s loads of people who come from Muggle
families and they learn quick enough.”
While they had been talking, the train had carried them out
of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and
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