Harry Potter and the philosopher's stone |the Book

CHAPTER 2 || A window disappears

Almost ten years had passed since the Dursleys had cleared the front door one morning and found their nephew on the doorstep, but Privet Drive had hardly changed. When the sun rose, it bathed the same neatly manicured front gardens in its light and illuminated the same brass plate with the number 4 above the door. Finally her rays crept into the living room. It looked almost exactly the same as it had that night when Mr. Dursley had seen the ominous report about the owls on television. Only the photos on the mantelpiece showed how much time had passed. Ten years earlier there had been a lot of pictures there of something resembling a big pink beach ball and wearing pom-pom hats of different colors - but now Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photos showed a big one , blonde boy, sometimes on his first bike, sometimes riding the carousel at the fairground, sometimes playing a computer game with his father and finally how his mother cuddled and kissed him. Nothing in the room suggested that there was another boy living in the house. But Harry Potter was still there, he was currently asleep, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was already awake and her shrill voice broke the morning light. such silence.

"Get up, but dalli!" Suddenly Harry was wide awake. His aunt banged on the door again. "Get up!" she shrieked. Harry heard her go into the kitchen and put the pan on the stove. He rolled over on his back and tried to remember the dream he had just had. It was a good dream. There was a flying motorcycle in it. He had the strange feeling that he had dreamed the dream before. His was now standing outside the door again Aunt. "Are you up yet?" she asked. "Almost," said Harry. "Hurry up. I want you to take care of the ham. And don't let it burn, everything has to be perfect on Duddy's birthday." Harry groaned. "What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door. "Nothing nothing ..." Dudley's birthday - how could he have forgotten it? Harry slowly climbed out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed, plucked a spider away from them and put them on. Harry was used to spiders because the cupboard under the stairs was full of spiders. And in that closet Harry slept. Once he was dressed, he walked down the hall and entered the kitchen. The entire table was covered with birthday presents. Apparently Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted and, not to mention, the second television and the racing bike. Why Dudley actually wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, because Dudley

was very fat and hated sports - except, of course, when it came to punching people. Dudley's favorite victim was Harry, but he didn't get to catch him that often. You couldn't tell by looking at Harry, but he could run very fast. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he lived in a dark closet, but Harry had always been quite small and skinny for his age. He looked even skinnier and skinnier than he really was, because all he had to wear were Dudley's hand-me-downs, and he was about four times as fat as Harry. Harry had a narrow face, knobby knees, black hair and light green eyes. He wore glasses with round lenses that were held together with a lot of tape because Dudley had punched him in the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his appearance was a very fine scar on his forehead that resembled a lightning bolt. It had been there for as long as he could remember, and his very first question to Aunt Petunia had been how he got that scar. "The car accident that killed your parents," she had said. "Now stop asking." Stop asking - that was the first rule if you wanted to live a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon came into the kitchen as Harry was eating Ham turned over. "Comb your hair!" he barked as a morning greeting. About once a week Uncle Vernon peered over his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed to get a haircut. Harry must have been to the hairdresser more times than all the boys in his class combined, but it didn't help. His hair just grew out like a wild garden. Harry was frying eggs when Dudley came in with his mother

the kitchen came. Dudley looked strikingly like Uncle Vernon. He had a broad, pink face, not much of a neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blonde hair that lay straight on his round, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a little angel - Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig with a perticke. Harry put the plates of eggs and ham on the table, which was difficult because there wasn't much space. Meanwhile, Dudley counted his presents. He pouted. "Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two fewer than last year." "Darling, you didn't count Aunt Marge's present, look, it's here under Mummy and Daddy's big one." "Well, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, blushing red - Harry, seeing a massive Dudley-style temper tantrum coming, wolfed down his ham as quickly as he could in case Dudley tipped over the table. Aunt Petunia also obviously sensed danger, because she quickly said: "And today, when we go out, we'll buy you two more presents. What do you say now, darling?" Dudley thought for a moment and it looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly: "Then I have eight and... eight and..." "Thirty-nine, sweetie," Aunt Petunia said. "Oh." Dudley plopped down on a chair and grabbed a package. "According to me." Uncle Vernon chuckled. »The little lout wants to see something for his money, just like his father. Good boy, Dudley!" He ran his hand through Dudley's hair.