Somebody bangs on my door and a loud voice says, ‘Get up, boy!’

They say that every morning, and I have to listen to them or they'll shout at me again until I do.

‘I’m awake, Aunt Petunia.’

‘Get up, so you can fix breakfast!’

‘Yes, Aunt Petunia.’ I hear her walk away. I'm thinking to myself that it's good she didn't stay this morning, because I've still got Dudley's new book and I don't want her to see it. I'll get into trouble for stealing, and I'm too hungry to do that. I'm always getting in trouble here. Aunt Marge says I'm a bad boy like my mum and dad were bad people. I think she must be a little right, because I've never heard of good boys living in the cupboard under the stairs.

‘Hurry up, boy!’ Uncle Vernon cals from the kitchen. He doesn’t like to wait for things.

‘Yes, Uncle Vernon.’ I open the door of the cupboard that’s been my room for eight years and climbed out. Uncle Vernon says the cupboard is good for me. Bad boys go into the cupboard, he tells me, and they come out model citisens. I want to know how long it will take for me to be a model citisen; I hate the cupboard. It's always dark and smelly in there, and I'm always hungry and have to use the toilet. Dudley laughs at me when I run to the loo in the morning, but I can't stop to notice him. I'll wet myself if I do. Uncle Vernon would be furious then.

‘About time.’ He grumbles at me. His big moustache moves up and down when he talks to me. If I were any other boy, I could laugh at that moustache. I could laugh really loudly and not have to worry about cupboards and angry uncles. But, I'm Harry Potter. When you're Harry Potter, you can never laugh at things like Uncle Vernon's big moustache moving when he talks. You're lucky if you ever get to laugh at all.

‘Sorry, Uncle Vernon.’ I walk over to the cooker and start it up. The eggs are already on the table and the bacon in the pan is crackling and making lovely smells. My stomach grumbles as I stand there watching the bacon cook in the frying pan, smelling it. I know that when it's on the table, Dudley will take everything before I'm allowed my own food, and i will never get to taste the bacon. Maybe they won't notice if I take a little bit.

It's good that I nicked the bacon when I did, because the next minute it's done and I'm serving it to my family and they're eating like they've been starving for years like I have. I know I'll never get any now.

‘I’m making a big sale today, Petunia. Indian man, Mr. Sadi-something or other is buying for his company. Some building company. Been one of the most difficult sales, couldn’t understand a damn thing the man said! Big sale today...’ Aunt Petunia just purses her lips. She’s always doing that, like she’s sucking on a lemon or something.

‘I need money for a trip.’ Dudley says loudly. This is always how it is in the morning. I make breakfast, Uncle Vernon talks, I stand against the wall, Aunt Petunia makes her lemon-sucking face, and Dudley asks for money.

‘Where to?’ Uncle Vernon askes between bits of bacon.

‘The London Zoo.’

As soon as I say it, I wish I haven't. I'm not supposed to talk to them unless they tell me to, and no one's told me to say anything about the zoo trip. They had passed the permission slips for the trip out at school a few days ago and today was the last day to turn them in. I know I'll be the only boy without my paper and money. They'll all laugh at me like they always do, and I'll have to stay in the classroom all day making drawings. I don't really want to go to the zoo, anyway. I don't need to pay to see animals when I can just watch Dudley and Uncle Vernon eat their breakfast.

‘Did I ask you to speak, boy?’ Uncle Vernon's moustache is moving again. I can't laugh. Don't laugh, Harry. Don't even smile. He's angry. You can't laugh when he's angry.

‘N-no, sir.’

‘Then why are you speaking?’

‘Dunno, sir.'

‘How much do you need?’ Aunt Petunia asks quickly. She never likes to see Uncle Vernon angry.

‘I dunno. Ten–twenty quid ought to cover it.’

Ten or twenty pounds? The trip is only five and lunch only costs about two. I wonder what I could buy with twenty pounds. I could get all the fish and chips I wanted, enough crisps to stuff a pillowcase, and pounds of sweets. Enough to make all my teeth rot out and put as much fat on me as Dudley's got on him. I could buy myself anything I wanted---anything at all---With enough left over to go to the zoo twice and take a bus back home.

They finish breakfast and Dudley goes off to get his school stuff while I clean up their mess. If I had twenty pounds I could make someone else do it, and then I wouldn't have to work. All I ever do here is work, work, work. When I was little, about six, I used to think maybe someone would come and take me away forever. I'd like that. I shouldn't be with the Dursleys and their cupboards and trips to London that cost twenty pounds. If I had a nice uncle, he could take me to London any time I wanted to go, and we would go to better places than the zoo.

‘G’bye, mum.’ Aunt Petunia kisses Dudley all over his face. I'm glad I don't have those lemon lips pushing against my face. Dudley doesn't like it either. He pulls away and runs for the door. Well, he can't actually run. He sort of walks like a duck.

‘Goodbye, Duddykins!’

Bye Diddykins!

It's cold out today. My t-shirt has enough room for me to pull my arms into it, which is what I do. Happy Birthday, Harry. I'm so cold I don't even notice that I'm talking to myself. How are you today? It is your birthday. Nine? That's an awfully big number. I'll nick you some of Dudley's Turkish Delight tonight for your birthday. You are nine, after all.

Maybe I'll get lucky and the zoo trip will be cancelled. No one can laugh at me for not having the paper and money then.

‘Good morning, children.’ Mrs. Henley smiles at us all and pulls out a sheet of paper to take roll.

‘Pssssst!’ Someone is kicking my chair, hard.

‘Sarah Adams?’

‘Potter!’

‘Liam Muggrer?’

‘Pssssst! Potter!’ Dudley’s friend–Piers Polkiss--pokes me in the back.

‘Harry Potter?’

‘Here!’ I say, a little too loudly. Uncle Vernon would have shouted at me.

‘Harry!’ Piers gives my hair a good tug and a few other kids laugh. I want to ignore them like the teachers always say we should. The boys in my class are always taking the mickey out of me, and the girls say things about my clothes when they know I'm listening. They don't understand that I don't have twenty pounds for new clothes and lunch and trips to the zoo. They don't understand that I'm here for the summer because Dudley got bad marks and Aunt Petunia said she didn't think it was fair if he went alone. If I could, I would just take my A-Levels now and be done with school for the rest of my life.

‘What?’ He smiles.

‘I'm not going to the zoo either, and I'll—’

‘Is there a problem?’ Mrs. Henley is standing by my desk with her arms crossed over chest. I shake my head because I can't think of anything else to do, my eyes as wide as footballs.

‘No.’ Mrs. Henley is nice, but she still makes me nervous.

‘Turn around, Harry.’

I turn around as quickly as I can. I like Mrs. Henley. I don't want to be in trouble with her. She could send me back to the third class like they tried to do to Dudley. I'd be laughed at even more in the third class, even if Dudley wouldn't always be there.

‘Harry got in trouble!’

Soon, everyone is laughing about how I've gotten in trouble when Piers didn't. Something inside of me feels funny. I'm afraid I'll do something odd again and Uncle Vernon will lock me in the cupboard for another week. I hope I'm just hungry.

‘That’s enough.’ says Mrs. Henley and finishes making sure everyone is here. They'll be leaving after lunch, and I'll have the class al to myself. Just me and Piers and little Mr. Benson from down the hall. He never lets people laugh at me.

My lunch is a peanut butter sandwich and a crushed pack of crisps. It looks like Dudley's been in my crisps, but that doesn't matter. I'm hungry. Just looking at everyone else makes me feel like my stomach is as big as the whole car park at the shopping centre Aunt Petunia goes to. They have their sandwiches in little bags with cartoon charactres on them and chocolate milk with colourful straws. If I get thirsty, I can go to the water fountain by the boys’ lavatory.

Piers shoves chocolate biscuits into his mouth and grins at me. Alison is easting the sweets her mum packed her, and Liam Muggrer has chips that he eats very slowly, because that’s all he has. Aunt Petunia talks about the Muggrers sometimes. She says Liam’s dad is a slob and a horrible man and his mum isn’t any better. He’s the only other boy that drinks from the water fountain by the lavatory, and he tries not to laugh at me like the rest. The only reason he doesn’t get made fun of is because of me.

‘Harry?’ I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump at least a metre. I don’t like it when people touch me, especially if I don’t know they’re going to touch me. A lady hugged me once in the sweet shop. I never knew why, but I didn’t like her doing it. She didn’t tell me she was going to hug me.

‘Harry?’ It’s Mrs. Henley.

‘Yes?’

‘Harry, are you all right?’ Mrs. Henley bends down so she is my height. ‘Is there something wrong?’

I shake my head. I’m fine. Just watching the food.

‘Are you certain? There’s nothing you’d like to tell me?’ I shake my head again. Mrs. Henley is the nicest person ever, but I could never tell her anything. She won’t understand.

‘No, thank you. I’m alright.’ She doesn’t look like she believes me. She should. ‘Really.’

‘Alright. If there’s nothing...’

‘There isn’t,’ I say in the same kind of voice Uncle Vernon does when his business people want to pay less money to him.

‘You know you can always talk to me.’

And she leaves me sitting there, staring after her and wondering if she knows. I’d be in the cupboard for ages if Uncle Vernon thinks I’ve been telling people that I’m hungry and cold.

x x x



‘Boy! Is that you?’ The hoovering stops and the door to the cupboard under the stairs flies open. I’m packing my clothes to go and visit Aunt Marge. I don’t want to go. She isn’t my real aunt, but they make me call her that. She doesn’t like me anyway.

‘Yes?’

‘Hurry up. We’re leaving in ten minutes.’ She closes the door again, leaving me to my dark room. I’m done packing, so I don’t need the light anyway, but it was nice to have.

‘Yes, Aunt Petunia.’ My bag from school has two shirts, some pants, trousers, and an extra pair of socks that used to be Dudley’s. All of my stuff was Dudley’s once, except the underpants. Those are mine.

My cupboard opens again and Dudley is there, smiling like a fat pig with blond hair stuck to his head.

‘You didn’t wait for me after school.’

I don’t care if I was supposed to wait for him. If I had, he would have chased me all the way home or beaten me up with his mates. I’m pleased with myself for making it all the way to my cupboard without Dudley catching me.

‘I didn’t know you needed help finding the way home, Dudley. Sorry about that.’

His face is screwed up as he tries to work out what I’ve said. It will take ages for him to grow a brain, and I’m not waiting. The door slams right in his face. I can see his eyes wide. I’ve never done that before.

‘I’ll get you back really badly for that. Just you wait.’ He’s gone and I’m alone again. Alone is the only way to live properly with the Dursleys. I’d be going spare if I had to spend every minute with them.

‘Where’s the boy?’ I hear Uncle Vernon ask. A minute later and I’m standing with them in the hall. Dudley’s already gotten himself an iced lolly for the trip.

‘Just like him to keep us waiting.’ Aunt Petunia grumbles. She has her lemon face on again.

‘Really Petunia! They’re always promising this and that and then doing something completely different...’ Uncle Vernon thinks politicians are the most horrible, dirty, disgusting liars in the world. Yesterday he thought I was the most horrible, dirty, disgusting liar in the whole world. I don’t know who politicians are, but I don’t feel sorry for them. They’re lucky they don’t have to live with Uncle Vernon, whoever they are.

‘Mummy, Harry’s talking up all the seat space!’ Dudley whinges, slamming his fist into his window. I would have been tossed into a ditch---cold and dead---if I did anything like that. Dudley always gets to do more than me. I don’t mind so much, as long as he lets me alone.

‘Move, boy.’ Uncle Vernon doesn’t even look at me, but Aunt Petunia does. Her nose is wrinkled up and she bites her lips like she wants to say something.

‘I still don’t have enough room!’

I’m not moving any more than I have. Dudley’s bigger, but I’m worth ten of him. That’s what Mrs. Henley is always saying. When you’re worth ten of someone, you never have to move over for them in the car.

‘Move over, boy!’

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to move a bit. Uncle Vernon can’t reach me if I’m flat against the window.

‘Daddy, I want to listen to music!’ I want to listen as well, but I won’t say that. Aunt Petunia puts on Dudley’s new CD and we listen to the songs about Noah’s Ark and sharing and little trains that climb mountains. Dudley whinges that he hates this music, but Aunt Petunia won’t let him turn on the radio.

‘Horrible, nasty thing,’ she says. I don’t mind the music, even if it is for stupid babies. Dudley doesn’t like it, which means it’s perfect.

‘Vernon! Petunia! You’re here!’

And there she is, Aunt Marge–all five hundred pounds of her. Maybe not five hundred, but she is big. Bigger than Uncle Vernon, even.

‘Dudley, you’ve grown!’

People are always saying that to Dudley. It’s true he’s taller than I am, but he hasn’t grown in ages, except sideways. He’ll be as big as Aunt Marge one day if he’s not careful.

‘Marge, how have you been keeping?’ Uncle Vernon steps forward. He always acts funny around Aunt Marge. He complains more and he talks like the sales clerks in the shops I go to with Aunt Petunia.

‘Wonderfully. Wonderfully, Vernon. Come, come inside.’

I’m following them slowly. If I’m not careful, Ripper might come out. He can smell me from Aunt Marge’s house, and he comes running as soon as I’m near enough. I’m afraid he’ll bite my leg again like last time. Uncle Vernon keeps calling me to come back and get his trunk, but he knows I can’t. I have to run or Ripper will tear my leg into tiny pieces and eat it for his teatime snack.

It’s a race between us, me and Ripper. I’m winning right now, but not for long. He’s at my heels, biting and snapping and spitting all over Dudley’s old trousers. I’m thankful for one that my clothes are a thousand times to big for me. Ripper’s teeth don’t hurt nearly as much when he bites my arm. Not until he lets go, and then the fire starts to burn in my skin and I can’t get rid of it. I scratch and slap and spit on it, but the fire is burning and it won’t stop.

‘COME HERE, BOY!’ Uncle Vernon will know what to do, even if he won’t do it. Aunt Petunia won’t let me stay like this. She’ll wrap it in plasters and give me some soap to wash away the dog drool. ‘Get my suitcase.’

‘Yes, Uncle Vernon.’

I bite my lip because they aren’t going to help me. Even Aunt Petunia just looks at my arm and tells me I’ll live.

‘Go on to the toilet, then,’ she snaps at me. As soon as I get everyone’s stuff inside, I do. There’s no time to think about it or have a good look. I just splash on a bit of water and soap and squeeze my eyes again the burn. Behind me, Aunt Marge has a tiny statue of a dog with angel’s wings. I swear to every superhero on Earth that it’s smiling at me.

At school they tell you be good. That’s all it ever is. Be a good boy and follow the rules and never ever say you hate someone. Only bad people hate.

At home they tell you how bad you are. Your mum was bad and so was your dad, and you’re as bad as it gets. Bad people hate.

I hate Aunt Marge.

I hate the way her fat jiggles when she hugs Dudley, and how she looks at me. I hate her dogs for being nasty and biting. I want to drown her dogs, but only after I’ve made them bite her. Hard.

‘Come out, boy,’ says Uncle Vernon. I push the dog – the one on the toilet – and watch it fall. It cracks, breaks into a million tiny pieces, Uncle Vernon telling me to hurry up outside. He hasn’t got all day, you know. The dog with the angel’s wings isn’t smiling no more. A pile of broken glass on the floor can’t smile.

‘What’s taking the boy so long? I haven’t got all day, you know.’

‘Damned if I know – Boy, hurry up!’

They pound at the door, but I’ve got to bin the broken angel-dog before I can come out. There is no rubbish bin, so I toss everything into the toilet and flush. It makes an awful noise – nails on a chalkboard – but the lot of it is down the drain.

Next minute, Uncle Vernon’s got my arm, and we’re going to the car again. This time there is no dog, but even a dog is better than being squished into the car door by Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Aunt Petunia says, ‘wipe that nasty smirk off your face, boy. I’ll not have you making faces all night, or you can stay back here.’

Aunt Marge don’t want me staying in her house alone. ‘God knows what a rotten boy like that would do if left to his own devices. No – no, I wouldn’t trust him with my dogs.’ She spits when she talks, and it flies all over Uncle Vernon’s windshield. I’m a rotten boy, I think, and it makes me smile. Rotten boys can hate rotten aunts all they want to.

o o o

Sometimes I think maybe I’m a film star. Like Tom Cruise or something. Aunt Petunia thinks he’s dashing. She reads about him in magazines and tells Uncle Vernon all about weddings and relationship scandals and all sorts of words I don’t understand. I think I am a film star because film stars are always having problems. Like, the one man’s girlfriend is sleeping with the man in this film she’s in, and then they have a divorce and all the magazines write things about it. I don’t see what’s so bad about going to sleep with someone, but maybe you’re only allowed to sleep with your husband when you’re married.

The people in films have always got a big adventure, and the really good characters – the ones the film is usually about – are always complaining because they’re got no friends, or their stepfather is drunk, or they’re orphans. If I was a film star, all my problems would be a story, and at the end I would be happy and always have the pretty girlfriend.

Film stars always get special attention when they go places. It’s in all Aunt Petunia’s magazines. We go to a hamburger bar, and I’m pretending to be a film star. All the people turn around to look at me.

See that boy?

The one with the black hair, and the glasses?

Yeah – that’s him.

Looks familiar, don’t he?

Course he do. He’s a film star, ain’t he?

Must be nice to be a film star.

Oh, yeah. I’m sure it is.

I pretend cameras are all following me – snapping photographs and film for the news and the magazines. All the kids at school will see me tonight on the BBC. Famous film star eats at hamburger bar. Full story at eight.

When you’re a film star, everyone likes you. You’ve always got the best clothes and cars and toys and everything. Nobody ever wants to beat you up, or take the mick out of you because you’ve got too-big clothes and sellotaped classes. Everyone thinks you are ace. People read about you in magazines and want to be you, and you get to be happy forever. Like a king.

Only, it don’t work that way. Uncle Vernon tells the lady to bring me a hamburger and water. She never even looks at my chair. I’m just Harry Potter, and Harry Potter is the biggest nobody what ever lived, full stop.

My hamburger is good, but now Dudley wants my chips as he’s eaten all his. Aunt Marge smiles, growing boys need food, you know. Uncle Vernon gives Dudley my chips, tells me drink my water if I’m so hungry, and goes off to the toilet. I don’t want water, but I’ll drink it. I didn’t need chips anyway. Who needs chips when they’ve got half a bit of tomato and a full glass of water? Not me.

‘Never seen a finer lad, Petunia,’ booms Aunt Marge as Dudley stuffs his face with cake. She slaps the table, and everything shakes like an earthquake. I promise that one day, when I’m rich and famous, I’ll come back here to the hamburger bar and buy six hamburgers. I’ll give four to the kids in London that Aunt Petunia complains about. Then I’ll eat the other two, drink a fountain of Coca Cola, and watch a football match on the TV. Leeds will be playing, and for once, they’re going to win.

We go back to Aunt Marge’s house, Dudley and Aunt Petunia squeezing me in the centre of the back seat. Uncle Vernon burps and Aunt Marge tells him about a wonderful bottle of sherry she’s just been given by Colonel Fubster, and would he like some? He says he does. I think I will go right upstairs when we get back.

My room at Aunt Marge’s house is the attic. It’s bigger than my cupboard back home, and Uncle Vernon tells me don’t be getting any big ideas, boy. I’m still only the boy, even if the attic is massive with windows and light bulbs and boxes of clothes. There’s a birdcage in there that used to have budgies in it, but they died when Dudley opened the door and put Ripper in with them. He locked me in there once and now the cage grins at me.

Coming in, Harry?

‘No,’ I tell it. ‘I’m too big for cages, anyway. Nine now, didn’t you know?’

Nine is big. Dudley got twenty-six presents for his ninth birthday. I didn’t get nothing, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t need new socks or a toothpick, anyway.

All my stuff is in a box on the floor, and I am sat on the edge of the bed. I haven’t got any idea what I’m supposed to do now. Should I sleep, or maybe someone will call? I haven’t got to listen to them, as they’re all too fat to climb up the staircase to the attic.

Ssssleep … Sssserpent child.

‘Who’s there?’

I must be going barmy. Uncle Vernon would have locked me in my cupboard for being stupid. Voices don’t come from nowhere, and nobody else is the attic. Besides, I don’t even know a serpent child. I think my head is clogged up from dinner, or something. Maybe hamburgers have got nasty side effects on people when you eat them sitting next to Dudley.

‘PETUNIA, FETCH THE BOY! PETUNIA!’

‘VERNON, WHAT’S – OH, MY, DUDDERS!’

‘NO TIME, PETUNIA. FETCH THE DO – BOY!

‘BOY! BOY! I KNOW YOU HEAR ME; COME DOWN THIS INSTANT!’

I’m the only boy in this house. Aunt Petunia is still shouting herself hoarse downstairs, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got my bag on my back and I’m downstairs before she gets the chance to shout again.

‘About time,’ says Aunt Petunia; she pulls me by my shirt until we reach the car. Dudley is in the back, holding his stomach and moaning. He’s bright green, and his ears have gone biggish and floppy. Maybe hamburgers have got nasty side effects when you are Dudley, I think, and have to bite my lips to stop myself smiling.

‘Ow-ow, mummyyyyyy.’

This time, Dudley really is not faking it. He squeezes his eyes together and fat tears fall onto his cheeks. I’m tired, and I don’t care if Dudley turns blue and dies. I want to sleep.

-

‘He’s asleep.’

‘Well, wake him up.’

‘Boy! Boy, get up! Up!’

‘I’ll get up when I bloody well want.’

I heard a fifth year say that once, “when I bloody well want�. I think it sounds well hard, with the whole bloody bit and everything. Aunt Petunia doesn’t think so.

‘What did you say to me?’

Aunt Petunia does not like my attitude. She tells me that a lot, actually. I really am a rotten boy with a nasty attitude. My mouth is filthy as well.

I reckon if my mouth is so awful, it really don’t make much of a difference when I say, ‘Bugger off, you old hag.’

She hits hard, my Aunt Petunia does. Smacks me on my mouth for the things I say, and on my cheek for being such a rotten boy, and my arms and my legs and everything else until I am sitting up straight and promising to be a good boy.

We’re at the hospital. It says on a big sign “Hospital� with a red cross and loads of people running around. I don’t get to stay and watch the people and the ambulances flashing their lights. Dudley’s inside having himself checked in, as his ears have grown to about a foot by now and his face it brilliantly pink. It’s not temper tantrum pink, or crying pink, or any sort of pink I’ve ever seen on a face before. Dudley’s face is bright, girly pink. It’s changing colours, too. Red like a traffic light, green, blue, yellow. The lady checking in says she’s never seen anything like it, and Dudley gets taken back right away.

I’m to sit in the waiting room, and don’t move if I value my life. Everyone else is back with Dudley and his two metre ears. They all think it’s very funny, even if Uncle Vernon says it’s serious and freaky and needs to be taken care of right away. Who ever heard of a boy with a rainbow face that changed colour like a traffic light and made his ears grow so long they could touch the floor? The nurse laughed all the way to the back, and Aunt Petunia had that look on her face.

‘Hullo.’

The only empty seat is next to a woman who looks like Aunt Marge. She looks sort of nice, though. Bit sad and droopy, like an old dog Aunt Marge drowned once, but nice enough.

‘Hullo,’ she says back. I giver her my best film star smile, the one that makes Aunt Petunia slap me round the head with her magazines.

‘I’ll have that seat, if you don’t mind.’

She smiles back at me, so I sit.

We don’t talk, me and the Aunt Marge-ish lady. She watches the television and I watch the two boys playing cars on the train table. After a while, when my bum has gone a bit numb, she gets up and leaves. I don’t think she’ll be coming back, by the way she’s crying, so I giver her seat to a blonde lady with nice eyes.

‘Hullo,’ I say. She smiles at me.

‘Hullo. I’m Jo.’

Matthew Evans from a few blocks away says when a girl gives you her name it means she thinks you’re well fit. Matthew Evans knows a lot of things about girls, as he’s got a girfriend in the sixth year, and they’re going to be married after they’ve done A-Levels.

‘I’m Harry,’ I tell her, not half shy. She keeps smiling, so I reckon I might as well ask her and get it over with. ‘Do you think I’m well fit?’

I don’t think girls are supposed to laugh when you ask them that, but that’s what Jo does, so maybe they do sometimes.

Fixing her hair, she says, ‘You’re a very handsome boy.’

I dunno what’s better – handsome or fit. Older kids say “he’s well fit, isn’t he Mary?� and “Ben’s bird is fit, don’t you think?� Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia say Dudley is a very handsome boy all the time, but never me, so I tell Jo, ‘I’m not handsome, you know.’

And she says, ‘Well, why not?’

Girls ask a lot of questions.

‘Well,’ I start, ‘Matthew Evans has got a girlfriend and he’s the only one what talks to me, as he’s in fifth year and can do whatever he bloody well likes, so he talks to me, and his girlfriend talks to me, as she’s in sixth year and thinks little kids are cute anyway, and Matthew Evan’s girlfriend – her name’s Anna, by the way – she thinks I’m fit and I’ll have girls all over me by the time I reach secondary. Anyway, my cousin Dudley is a handsome boy, according to my aunt, and he’s about as fat as anything, so I can’t be handsome cos I’m skinny as bones, or something like that.’

Jo is laughing at me now, but in a nice way, I think.

‘So, you see, I’ve got to be fit, and not handsome, or I’d be fat and stupid like Dudley.’

I wonder if I’ll ever have a girlfriend, the way Jo is laughing. She thinks I’m handsome, and that’s awful, because Dudley is handsome. Maybe Matthew Evans’s girlfriend Anna is wrong about me, because it’s been nine years, and I still haven’t had a girlfriend.

‘How old are you, Harry?’

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she is interested.

‘I’m nine; how old are you?’

She says twenty-nine, and I think that’s really, really old. Older than sixth year, and even uni. She must be out of uni by now. Wait until I tell Matthew Evans. He’ll be green.

‘We should go to the cinema.’ And one day, when I’m a famous film star, I’ll be able to say, “We should go see me in the cinema.�

Her face is laughing pink by now, and I’m afraid she’ll be a rainbow like Dudley is. I watch her ears to make sure she’s not growing them any bigger. They’re very normal, with little silver earrings hanging out of them.

‘Maybe lunch, then,’ I decide. Lunch is probably better anyway, so we could get to know each other.

‘Maybe lunch,’ Jo agrees, giggling. What is it with girls and giggling?

‘It was my ninth birthday a few days ago,’ I inform; I’m running out of things to talk about. When you’re Harry Potter you don’t do much talking. Nobody really likes me, and the ones who might are too afraid of Dudley to even say hullo.

‘That’s almost ten,’ Jo tells me. I think, I know.

‘And I can do maths and reading, and speak French a bit, and we play football in PE when Mr Tittup is in a good mood.’

Now Jo is very interested. Anna says girls love a man who can speak French, and I’ve been doing it for years in school – all the way back to nursery, when we learnt how to say hello.

‘Give us some French, then,’ she asks. She says it nicely, so I think I’ll tell her something good. If I can remember something good….

‘Well,’ I say, raising my eyebrows, ‘Pêche is pear.’

She thinks I may just be the best French-speaker in all of Surrey, maybe even all of England and well into Wales and Scotland. I’m probably not, but it’s nice for someone to say it. I always fail my French exams, especially practical, where Mrs Carson says things in French and we’ve got to answer in French. It’s very difficult.

‘Boy!’

Aunt Petunia’s come back without Uncle Vernon or Dudley. She looks between me and Jo for a minute, and I think she might be a bit jealous, as Jo is pretty with her blonde hair and lovely blue eyes, but Jo smiles, so Aunt smiles back, even though her smile is more like a painful-looking version of a frown.

‘I hope he hasn’t been a bother.’

I want to tell her to go away and let me talk to Jo alone, without her and her nosy face poking in and ruining everything, but she looks angry, so I let it be.

‘He’s wonderful,’ Jo answers. She smiles at me and I think I might be in love.

‘Yes, well…come along, then, Harry.’ Aunt Petunia doesn’t know what to say. She’d never guess anyone would say I was wonderful. Me with my messy hair and ugly scar. I don’t even get very good marks in school, and Mrs Carson says I’ll do badly on my GCSE if I don’t start using commas.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Home,’ she snaps at me.

I wave goodbye to Jo and tell her we’ll have to do lunch another time, as it’s past my bedtime and my cousin Dudley is changing colours. I don’t know if she understands, but she blows me a kiss, so I blow her own back, very shyly, and follow my aunt out past the people and a big ambulance and out to the car. We’re going back to Privet Drive, just me and her.
Return to Top