Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

“Marge's ill,” he informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk…”

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Harry's got something!”

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.
 

“That's mine!” said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

“Who'd be writing to you?” sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

“Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!”

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.

“I want to read it,” said Harry furiously, “as it's mine.”

“Get out, both of you,” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harry didn't move.

“I WANT MY LETTER!” he shouted.

“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley.

“OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, “look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?”

“Watching — spying — might be following us,” muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want—”

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

“No,” he said finally. “No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…”

“But—”

“I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?” 

哈利回到厨房，一直盯着他的信看。他递给弗农姨父账单以及明信片，坐下来慢慢地开始拆自己黄色的信封。

　　弗农姨父飞快地打开账单，厌恶地哼了一声，又把明信片翻过来。

　　"玛姬生病了。"他跟佩妮姨妈说。"因为吃了不干净的螺。"
    "爸爸，"达力突然叫道，"哈利居然有信收！"哈利正准备打开那封同样也是用厚厚的羊皮纸写的信。弗农姨父一把从他手中抢了过去。

　　"这是我的信，"哈利试着把它抢回来。

　　"谁会写信给你呢？"弗农姨父冷笑着说，并且用一只手摇晃着把信打开。只看了一眼，他的脸色便由红转绿，比交通指示灯变得还快。他愣住了。不久，他的脸色变成像放久了的粥的灰白色。

　　"佩——佩妮。"他喘着粗气说。

　　达力想抢那封信去看，但是弗农姨父把信举得高高的不让他抓到。佩妮姨妈好奇地拿过去只读了一行字，她就好像要昏过去了一样。她抓住自己的喉咙，发出一阵被什么东西噎住了的声音。

　　"弗农！我的天哪——弗农！"

　　他们面面相觑，好像忘记了还有哈利和达力在这间房子里，达力可不习惯被人忽视。他用棍子在他爸爸的头上猛地敲了一下。

　　"我要看那封信。"他大声地说。

　　"我也要看，"哈利万分焦急地说，"它是我的信。""你们两个通通给我出去。"弗农姨父喝斥道，又把信塞回了信封。

　　哈利不肯动。

　　"把信还给我！"他大叫。

　　"给我看！"达力也来凑热闹。

　　"出去！"弗农姨父发脾气了。他抓住哈利和儿子几乎是把他们丢了出去，然后砰地一声关上了厨房门。哈利和达德里马上为争夺钥匙孔旁的位置展开了一场激烈而又无声的争斗。

　　"弗农，"帕尤妮亚姨妈用一种颤抖的声音说，"看这个地址——他们怎么可能知道他睡在那里？你不觉得他们在时刻注视这间屋子吗？""注视——监视——很有可能在追踪我们。"弗农姨父地嘀咕着。

　　"那我们该怎么办，弗农？我们应该写回信吗？告诉他们我们不想——"哈利可以看见弗农姨父闪亮的黑皮鞋在厨房里踱来踱去。

　　"不行，"他终于开口了。"我们不写回信了。如果他们得不到答案……对，这样再好不过了……我们什么也不用做……""可是——"

　　"佩妮，我们不能让他们任何人进这栋房子！我们收养他的时候不是发过誓，要制止这种耸人听闻的荒唐事吗？"