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.