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27 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." That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.
"Where's my letter." said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me." "No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly.
"I have burned it."
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