CHAPTER THREE
books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they’ d never been touched.
From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother,“ I don’ t want him in there... I need that room... make him get out....”
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he’ d have given anything to be up here. Today he’ d rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He’ d screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’ t have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he’ d opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted,“ There’ s another one!‘ Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—’”
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry’ s letter clutched in his hand.
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