The Worst Birthday
Notforthefirsttime,anargumenthadbrokenoutoverbreakfastatnumberfour,PrivetDrive.Mr.VernonDursleyhadbeenwokenintheearlyhoursofthemorningbyaloud,hootingnoisefromhisnephewHarry’sroom.
"Thirdtimethisweek!"heroaredacrossthetable."Ifyoucan’tcontrolthatowl,it’llhavetogo!"
Harrytried,yetagain,toexplain.
"She’sbored,"hesaid."She’susedtoflyingaroundoutside.IfIcouldjustletheroutatnight—"
"DoIlookstupid?"snarledUncleVernon,abitoffriedeggdanglingfromhisbushymustache."Iknowwhat’llhappenifthatowl’sletout."
Heexchangeddarklookswithhiswife,Petunia.
Harrytriedtoarguebackbuthiswordsweredrownedbyalong,loudbelchfromtheDursleys’son,Dudley.
"Iwantmorebacon."
"There’smoreinthefryingpan,sweetums,"saidAuntPetunia,turningmistyeyesonhermassiveson."Wemustbuildyouupwhilewe’vegotthechance...Idon’tlikethesoundofthatschoolfood..."
"Nonsense,Petunia,IneverwenthungrywhenIwasatSmeltings,"saidUncleVernonheartily."Dudleygetsenough,don’tyou,son?"
Dudley,whowassolargehisbottomdroopedovereithersideofthekitchenchair,grinnedandturnedtoHarry.