“Oh, this must be the chapter where Ron invites you to his house, as he said he would,” Hermione said.
“It has to be, though I do wonder why it's getting it's own chapter,” Cedric said.
“You don't think that Mrs. Weasley might try and go through the Dursleys to ask about me, do you,” Harry said.
“It's possible,” Hermione said, frowning. Considering how Mrs. Weasley seemed to be when it came to Muggle things, Hermione doubted she'd know the right way to send a letter to Muggles.
By the time Harry arrived in the kitchen, the three Dursleys were already seated around the table.
“Considering when I woke up, I have to wonder at what time I finished the letter,” Harry said. “Because I don't think they'd get up that early.”
None of them looked up as he entered or sat down. Uncle Vernon’s large red face was hidden behind the morning’s Daily Mail and Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into quarters, her lips pursed over her horse-like teeth.
“Okay, yeah, it's definitely not her idea to have her 'precious little ickle Duddykins' on a diet,” Hermione said. She made her tone of voice chance to a sickly sweet voice when mentioning Dudley.
Dudley looked furious and sulky, and somehow seemed to be taking up even more space than usual. This was saying something, as he always took up an entire side of the square table by himself.
“Yeah, whoever is making them have him on a diet is right to do some,” Luna said, looking disgusted.
When Aunt Petunia put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit
Hermione made a face at that. She might not like them, but with how sour grapefruit was without sugar, it really wasn't something she'd suggest others have.
onto Dudley’s plate with a tremulous “There you are, Diddy darling”,
“So, that's horrible nickname number three, four?” Cedric said. Harry thought about it.
“I do believe so,” Harry said. “At least, it's the fourth name mentioned in the books so far, not counting some of the the ones I've heard that are not mention, or the simple 'sweetnums' from the second book.”
Dudley glowered at her. His life had taken a most unpleasant turn since he had come home for the summer with his end-of-year report.
“It was one of the staff at the school,” Hermione said. “That makes sense.”
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had managed to find excuses for his bad marks as usual; Aunt Petunia always insisted that Dudley was a very gifted boy whose teachers didn’t understand him,
“Idiot,” Luna said. “If he's getting bad marks, he's not a gifted boy, unless you're talking about disgusting gifts like eating so much he looks like a whale or the fact that he loves to bully people.”
while Uncle Vernon maintained that “he didn’t want some swotty little nancy boy for a son anyway”.
“He'd be saying something else if Dudley was extremely smart, though,” Harry pointed out.
They also skated over the accusations of bullying in the report –
“They'd do that even if there was photographic proof, of they even saw it with their own eyes – Uncle Vernon would most likely cheer him on as well,” Harry said.
“He’s a boisterous little boy, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly!” said Aunt Petunia tearfully.
There were some rolled eyes at the idiotic actions of Petunia.
However, at the bottom of the report there were a few well chosen comments from the school nurse which not even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could explain away. No matter how much Aunt Petunia wailed that Dudley was big-boned, and that his poundage was really puppy-fat, and that he was a growing boy who needed plenty of food, the fact remained that the school outfitters didn’t stock knickerbockers big enough for him any more.
“That's just sad,” Hermione said. “Chances are that boy will not live past the age of twenty, if he continues on in that vein.”
The school nurse had seen what Aunt Petunia’s eyes – so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her gleaming walls, and in observing the comings and goings of the neighbours – simply refused to see: that, far from needing extra nourishment, Dudley had reached roughly the size and weight of a young killer whale.
“That's big,” Hermione said, wide eyed.
So – after many tantrums, after arguments that shook Harry’s bedroom floor, and many tears from Aunt Petunia – the new regime had begun. The diet sheet that had been sent by the Smeltings school nurse had been taped to the fridge, which had been emptied of all Dudley’s favourite things – fizzy drinks and cakes, chocolate bars and burgers – and filled instead with fruit and vegetables and the sorts of things that Uncle Vernon called ‘rabbit food’. To make Dudley feel better about it all, Aunt Petunia had insisted that the whole family follow the diet too.
“So, not only does he have had to eat the food, everyone does,” Cedric said. “That's good because your Uncle should be forced to eat it as well, but you should have to be forced to.”
“I have the feeling that I probably am not doing that,” Harry said. “After all, I do have quite a few friends now that will most likely send me some food to eat that'll help balance it out.”
She now passed a grapefruit quarter to Harry. He noticed that it was a lot smaller than Dudley’s. Aunt Petunia seemed to feel that the best way to keep up Dudley’s morale was to make sure that he did, at least, get more to eat than Harry.
“So, not only are you eating something that, while good for you, isn't good for you at the same time because you don't need the diet, but you're also getting an even smaller portion as well,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “I'm almost afraid of what you get if they have company over.”
“Again, I have the feeling that I'm not following the diet,” Harry said.
But Aunt Petunia didn’t know what was hidden under the loose floorboard upstairs. She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help, and they had risen to the occasion magnificently.
“Good, though we're not that many people,” Hermione said, frowning lightly. “I mean, it's me, Ron, Hagrid, and Sirius, and that's it.”
“I need more friends, then,” Harry said.
“Yeah, I'd say that's definitely true,” Hermione said. “Though, hopefully, you won't have to stay there much longer, so this conversation is rather unnecessary to talk about.”
Hedwig had returned from Hermione’s house with a large box stuffed full of sugar-free snacks (Hermione’s parents were dentists).
“I'll have to make sure to get you some more things to eat,” Hermione muttered, knowing that the sugar-free snacks, while okay, weren't the best.
Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own home-made rock cakes (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking).
“So only you and Ron get me some things that I can actually eat,” Harry said. It was a forgone conclusion that Ron would rise to the occasion.
Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted pasties.
There were some frowns at that. While good, it would have been better if Mrs. Weasley had sent some more that could be stored without going stale, unless she purposely magicked them so that that didn't happen.
“I feel sorry for Errol,” Luna said, knowing that the owl was getting very old.
Poor Errol, who was elderly and feeble, had needed a full five days to recover from the journey. And then on Harry’s birthday (which the Dursleys had completely ignored) he had received four superb birthday cakes, one each from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid and Sirius.
“I have the feeling that I know exactly what you're going to be eating,” Hermione said, sounding disapproving.
“What if that's all I have left, though,” Harry said. She frowned at him, but couldn't argue that.
“I kind of hope that it is, because eating cake for breakfast isn't the best thing,” she said instead.
Harry still had two of them left, and so, looking forward to a real breakfast when he got back upstairs, he started eating his grapefruit without complaint.
“Not that complaining would do me any good,” Harry muttered.
Uncle Vernon laid aside his paper with a deep sniff of disapproval and looked down at his own grapefruit quarter.
“He's probably going to complain about it,” Luna said.
“Is this it?” he said grumpily to Aunt Petunia.
Aunt Petunia gave him a severe look, and then nodded pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own grapefruit quarter, and was eyeing Harry’s with a very sour look in his piggy little eyes.
“Probably mad that he can't steal it,” Cedric said.
Uncle Vernon gave a great sigh which ruffled his large, bushy moustache, and picked up his spoon.
The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and set off down the hall.
“That's probably not the smartest idea, with the fact that Dudley is still there at the table,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
Quick as a flash, while his mother was occupied with the kettle, Dudley stole the rest of Uncle Vernon’s grapefruit.
“Great,” Harry said. He just knew that, if it came down to it, he'd be the one blamed for it. He knew that it wouldn't be worth hoping otherwise.
Harry heard talking at the door, and someone laughing, and Uncle Vernon answering curtly.
“I have the feeling that whatever it is, its something that I am not going to like,” Harry said, remembering the chapter title and what they suspected.
Then the front door closed, and the sound of ripping paper came from the hall.
“It was the mail man, which means that we were right,” Hermione said, referring to what they said earlier.
Aunt Petunia set the teapot down on the table and looked curiously around to see where Uncle Vernon had got to. She didn’t have to wait long to find out; after about a minute, he was back. He looked livid.
“You,” he barked at Harry. “In the living room. Now.”
Definitely the invitation,” Harry said.
Bewildered, wondering what on earth he was supposed to have done this time,
“Not tell the Weasleys not to send mail the Muggle way,” Hermione said. “You should have told Ron, when he first made the invitation, to just send it to you, and that you'd take the Knight Bus to his house, despite what your aunt and uncle say.”
“Yeah, that would most likely save me from having to deal with this. And, this time, they can't try to hold me back, since it would mean Sirius would come visit,” Harry said, smiling.
Harry got up and followed Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen and into the next room. Uncle Vernon closed the door sharply behind both of them.
“So,” he said, marching over to the fireplace and turning to face Harry as though he was about to pronounce him under arrest.
“He'd probably love it if that happened,” Harry said.
“So.”
“So what?” Cedric said.
“I would probably loved to say that, but I don't think it would be the best,” Harry said.
Harry would have dearly loved to have said “So what?”, but he didn’t feel that Uncle Vernon’s temper should be tested this early in the morning, especially when it was already under severe strain from lack of food. He therefore settled for looking politely puzzled.
“This just arrived,” said Uncle Vernon. He brandished a piece of purple writing paper at Harry. “A letter. About you.”
“That's going to confuse you, since, as far as you know, you don't know anyone who would send a letter to you by Muggle mail,” Luna said.
“Meaning that everything I send is probably though Hedwig,” Hermione said. “Remember, I don't have an owl of my own.”
Harry’s confusion increased. Who would be writing to Uncle Vernon about him? Who did he know who sent letters by the postman?
“No one,” Harry said, answering his own question.
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, then looked down at the letter, and began to read aloud:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,
We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron.
“No, they haven't,” Harry said. “And not because I'm ashamed of Ron, either.”
As Harry might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place next Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
“It seems that, though she willingly did it the Muggle way, the invitation itself talks about things that they wouldn't know, unless she's assuming that you've told them about that, even though you've shown no signs of really knowing what the Ministry Departments are,” Cedric said.
I do hope you will allow us to take Harry to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn’t hosted the Cup for thirty years and tickets are extremely hard to come by.
“And, since my uncle has no clue what Quidditch is, nor would he even car, that means nothing to him,” Harry said.
We would of course be glad to have Harry to stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see him safely onto the train back to school.
“I think your relatives would love it of you weren't seen safely onto the train,” Luna said.
It would be best for Harry to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is.
Hoping to see Harry soon, Yours sincerely,
Molly Weasley
P.S. I do hope we’ve put enough stamps on.
“Oh no,” Hermione said, though with a smile. She bit her lips, hoping to keep from laughing.
Uncle Vernon finished reading, put his hand back into his breast pocket, and drew out something else.
“The envelope,” Hermione said. It was really the only thing that she thought he would pull out.
“Look at this,” he growled.
He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley’s letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys’ address in minute writing.
Harry and Hermione both laughed at that.
“Is that not how you're supposed to do it?” Cedric asked.
“No,” Hermione said, calming down.
“You only need one stamp,” Harry added.
“Oh,” Cedric said.
“She did put enough stamps on, then,” said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley’s was a mistake anyone could make.
“It is one that a child might make,” Hermione said, “though I don't see a lot of parents not supervising a child about it.”
His uncle’s eyes flashed.
“The postman noticed,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Ah, that's what's got him all tied up in a knot,” Luna said.
“Yeah, with how touchy they are about things out of the ordinary – despite the fact that it's something that a kid could do – it makes sense that he'd be mad about it,” Harry said.
“Someone should really point out that the horrible way they treat you is a sign of being abnormal and not ordinary,” Hermione said. “And the person who should do that should be ordinary and not a wizard, because they'd probably not believe them.”
“Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That’s why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny.”
“It is,” Hermione said.
Harry didn’t say anything. Other people might not understand why Uncle Vernon was making a fuss about too many stamps, but Harry had lived with the Dursleys too long not to know how touchy they were about anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Their worst fear was that anyone would find out that they were connected (however distantly) with people like Mrs. Weasley.
“Well, then, that's what they deserve,” Luna said. “If you are forced to stay with them after were done hear and we can't get you moved, we'll have to make sure that people know that they're connected with wizards.”
Uncle Vernon was still glaring at Harry, who tried to keep his expression neutral. If he didn’t do or say anything stupid, he might just be in for the treat of a lifetime.
“Oh, you'll be able to go, even if he doesn't want you to. After all, you have a trump card that you can play,” Hermione said. Harry smiled as he realized that she was right.
He waited for Uncle Vernon to say something, but he merely continued to glare. Harry decided to break the silence.
“So – can I go, then?” he asked.
A slight spasm crossed Uncle Vernon’s large, purple face. The moustache bristled. Harry thought he knew what was going on behind the moustache: a furious battle as two of Uncle Vernon’s most fundamental instincts came into conflict.
“Allowing me to go would make me happy, which he's been trying to keep from happening for most of my life, while letting me go would get rid of me all that much sooner, and as he hated having me in the house...” Harry said.
“Yeah, it's such a battle,” Hermione said sarcastically. She was sarcastic because of what the reasons for the fight were, not because she actually thought that it was a battle.
Allowing Harry to go would make Harry happy, something Uncle Vernon had struggled against for thirteen years. On the other hand, allowing Harry to disappear to the Weasleys’ for the rest of the summer would get rid of him two weeks earlier than anyone could have hoped, and Uncle Vernon hated having Harry in the house. To give himself thinking time, it seemed, he looked down at Mrs. Weasley’s letter again.
“I should just mention that I have to finish my letter to my godfather,” Harry said.
“Who is this woman?” he said, staring at the signature with distaste.
“You’ve seen her,” said Harry. “She’s my friend Ron’s mother, she was meeting him off the Hog— off the school train at the end of last term.”
“Oh good, I stopped myself,” Harry said.
“Yeah, saying your school's name is probably the worse thing you can do around him at the moment,” Hermione said.
He had almost said “Hogwarts Express”, and that was a sure way to get his uncle’s temper up. Nobody ever mentioned the name of Harry’s school aloud in the Dursley household.
Uncle Vernon screwed up his enormous face as though trying to remember something very unpleasant.
“To him, it probably is,” Luna said.
“Dumpy sort of woman?” he growled finally. “Load of children with red hair?”
There were frowns from everyone in the room. While Mrs. Weasley was kind of described as that, it wasn't right for Vernon to call her that, particularly when one thought about the fact that he had no room to say it, being 'dumpy' himself, while Dudley had become wider than he was tall.
Harry frowned. He thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone ‘dumpy’, when his own son, Dudley, had finally achieved what he’d been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall.
Uncle Vernon was perusing the letter again.
“Quidditch,” he muttered under his breath. “Quidditch – what is this rubbish?”
“That's probably going to annoy me since I'm a fan of it in the book,” Harry said.
Harry felt a second stab of annoyance.
“It’s a sport,” he said shortly. “Played on broom—“
“He's most likely going to stop you there,” Luna said.
“All right, all right!” said Uncle Vernon loudly. Harry saw, with some satisfaction, that his uncle looked vaguely panicky. Apparently his nerves wouldn’t stand the sound of the word ‘broomsticks’ in his living room. He took refuge in perusing the letter again. Harry saw his lips form the words ‘send us your answer in the normal way’. He scowled.
“There's his next question,” Cedric said.
“What does she mean, the normal way?” he spat.
“Normal for us,” said Harry, and before his uncle could stop him, he added, “you know, owl post. That’s what’s normal for wizards.”
“That's not going to make your uncle very happy,” Luna said.
“Honestly, at this point, I really don't care,” Harry said. “At least, my book self doesn't.”
Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if Harry had just uttered a disgusting swear word. Shaking with anger, he shot a nervy look through the window, as though expecting to see some of the neighbours with their ears pressed against the glass.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?” he hissed, his face now a rich plum colour.
“Considering what a bastard you are, it's well deserved that he does so,” Cedric said. Hermione frowned at him, but didn't say anything, knowing that he did have a right to say he wanted, even if she didn't agree with the wording used.
“You stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful back –“
“Only after your fat pig of a son is finished with them,” Luna said, remembering how it mentioned that before.
“Only after Dudley finished with them,” said Harry coldly, and indeed, he was dressed in a sweatshirt so large for him that he had had to roll back the sleeves five times so as to be able to use his hands, and which fell past the knees of his extremely baggy jeans.
“I think the first thing you need to do is get yourself some new clothes, Muggle clothes to be exact,” Hermione said.
“I will not be spoken to like that!” said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage.
“And, hopefully, I won't take your bullying any more,” Harry said.
But Harry wasn’t going to stand for this. Gone were the days when he had been forced to take every single one of the Dursleys’ stupid rules. He wasn’t following Dudley’s diet, and he wasn’t going to let Uncle Vernon stop him going to the Quidditch World Cup, not if he could help it.
Harry took a deep, steadying breath and then said, “OK, I can’t see the World Cup. Can I go now, then? Only I’ve got a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know – my godfather.”
“I have said the magic words,” Harry said, smiling.
He had done it. He had said the magic words. Now he watched the purple recede blotchily from Uncle Vernon’s face, making it look like badly mixed blackcurrant ice-cream.
“You’re – you’re writing to him, are you?” said Uncle Vernon, in a would-be calm voice – but Harry had seen the pupils of his tiny eyes contract with sudden fear.
“It's what he deserves,” Hermione said.
“Well – yeah,” said Harry, casually. “It’s been a while since he heard from me, and, you know, if he doesn’t, he might start thinking something’s wrong.”
There were smiles all around at that.
“I like how your kind of torturing him,” Luna said.
“He does deserve it,” Cedric said.
He stopped there to enjoy the effect of these words. He could almost see the cogs working under Uncle Vernon’s thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop Harry writing to Sirius, Sirius would think Harry was being mistreated. If he told Harry he couldn’t go to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry would write and tell Sirius, who would know he was being mistreated.
“Which leaves only one option for Dursley to follow,” Hermione said, smiling.
There was only one thing for Uncle Vernon to do. Harry could see the conclusion forming in his mind as though the great moustached face was transparent. Harry tried not to smile, to keep his own face as blank as possible.
“That's probably the best thing to do, because he'd probably realize that your playing him, and end up doing something to you that would be bad,” Luna said.
And then –
“Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy ... this stupid ... this World Cup thing. You write and tell these – these Weasleys they’re to pick you up, mind. I haven’t got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your – your godfather ... tell him ... tell him you’re going.”
“I'll do that,” Harry said.
“OK then,” said Harry brightly.
He turned and walked towards the living-room door, fighting the urge to jump into the air and whoop.
“It would be fun to do, you know, rubbing salt on his wounds, but I really don't think testing him any more than I already did is a good idea,” Harry said.
He was going ... he was going to the Weasleys’, he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup!
Outside in the hall he nearly ran into Dudley, who had been lurking behind the door, clearly hoping to overhear Harry being told off.
“He's going to be in a big surprise when he finds out that you weren't told off,” Hermione said.
“He really is,” Harry agreed.
He looked shocked to see the broad grin on Harry’s face.
“That was an excellent breakfast, wasn’t it?’ said Harry. ‘I feel really full, don’t you?”
“Now that really is rubbing salt in a wound,” Luna said.
Laughing at the astonished look on Dudley’s face, Harry took the stairs three at a time, and hurled himself back into his bedroom.
The first thing he saw was that Hedwig was back. She was sitting in her cage, staring at Harry with her enormous amber eyes, and clicking her beak in the way that meant she was annoyed about something.
“Did Sirius send you another tropical bird?” Cedric asked.
Exactly what was annoying her became apparent almost at once.
“OUCH!” said Harry.
“Never mind, I don't think the birds would hurt you,” Cedric said.
What appeared to be a small, grey, feathery tennis ball had just collided with the side of Harry’s head. Harry massaged his head furiously, looking up to see what had hit him, and saw a minute owl, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, whizzing excitedly around the room like a loose firework.
“I think that's the owl Sirius gave Ron,” Luna said.
“It does sound like it,” Hermione said, then added, “and, if it is, that means that Ron must've sent a letter of his own to you.”
Harry then realised that the owl had dropped a letter at his feet. Harry bent down, recognised Ron’s handwriting, then tore open the envelope.
“So Ron did send me a letter of his own,” Harry said.
Inside was a hastily scribbled note.
Harry – DAD GOT THE TICKETS – Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum’s writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don’t know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I’d send this with Pig anyway.
“He named the owl Pig,” Harry said.
“I don't think so,” Luna said, frowning. “I think Ginny might have actually named him, and I don't think Pig is the actual name. She once told me that if she got the chance to name an animal, she'd name at least one Pigwideon..”
“The horrible name aside, the owl wasn't given to her, it was given to Ron, therefore he has the right to name it, not her,” Hermione said.
Harry stared at the word ‘Pig’, then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming around the lampshade on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less like a pig. Maybe he couldn’t read Ron’s writing.
“Apparently, I don't think of the fact that he might have named the owl that,” Harry said.
He went back to the letter:
We’re coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can’t miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it’s better if we pretend to ask their permission first.
“Honestly, that's rather rude of them,” Hermione said. “I mean, you could be close to your relative, and they could have planned something out for you that's fun, and here they are basically saying they don't care what's said, you have to go with them.”
“That's true,” Harry said. “It's not what's happening, but it's true.”
If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we’ll come and get you at five o’clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we’ll come and get you at five o’clock on Sunday anyway.
Hermione was shaking her head again. That was still rude of them.
Hermione’s arriving this afternoon.
“So I'll be there before you,” Hermione said, frowning a bit. She did wonder why she was going sooner than Harry, then figured that they just decided to get one friend at a time.
Percy’s started work – the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don’t mention anything about Abroad while you’re here unless you want the pants bored off you.
“I will admit, while an interesting department, getting into a conversation with someone who works there is rather boring,” Cedric said, having dealt with that himself.
See you soon – Ron
“Calm down!” Harry said, as the small owl flew low over his head, twittering madly with what Harry could only assume was pride at having delivered the letter to the right person.
“You know, somehow, if it hadn't mentioned that owl being eager to do some work, I'd wonder if Sirius hadn't purposely picked it out,” Harry said.
“Come here, I need you to take my answer back!”
The owl fluttered down on top of Hedwig’s cage. Hedwig looked coldly up at it, as though daring it to try and come any closer.
“I like your owl, she sounds as though she has quite the personality,” Luna said.
“I like her as well,” Harry said. “Hopefully I'll get her this time around as well.”
“I don't see why you wouldn't,” Hermione said.
Harry seized his eagle-feather quill once more, grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote:
Ron, it’s all OK, the Muggles say I can come. See you five o’clock tomorrow. Can’t wait.
Harry
“Short and to the point,” Luna said.
He folded this note up very small and, with immense difficulty, tied it to the tiny owl’s leg as it hopped on the spot with excitement.
“Yeah, that would probably be annoying,” Cedric said.
The moment the note was secure, the owl was off again; it zoomed out of the window and out of sight.
Harry turned to Hedwig.
“Feeling up to a long journey?” he asked her.
“Of course she will be,” Luna said. “In fact, she'd probably be annoyed if you tried to pawn something like that off on some other owl.”
Hedwig hooted in a dignified sort of way.
“Can you take this to Sirius for me?” he said, picking up his letter. “Hang on ... I just want to finish it.”
“Let me guess, you want to make sure that, if he's gets the letter and sends her back before the summer's ended, he'll know where your at,” Hermione said.
“Yup,” Harry said.
“I don't think he'll need that,” Luna said. “As I said before, unless otherwise, Owls have a way of getting letters to the person they need, without the need of an address. Of course, if he uses one of those birds again, I have the feeling that the address might be needed.”
“I don't think it would matter, though,” Cedric said. “I mean, does Sirius even know where the Weasleys live?”
“You know, I don't think so,” Hermione said. “I mean, if he did, then he would have probably mentioned that Pettigrew was with them, not at Hogwarts.”
“That's probably true,” Harry said, then turned back to the book.
He unfolded the parchment again and hastily added a postscript.
If you want to contact me, I’ll be at my friend Ron Weasley’s for the rest of the summer. His dad’s got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup!
“If Sirius is a big fan, he'll probably be very jealous of you,” Hermione said.
The letter finished, he tied it to Hedwig’s leg; she kept unusually still, as though determined to show him how a real post owl should behave.
“She doesn't need to do that,” Harry said. “I know she's a real post owl.”
“I’ll be at Ron’s when you get back, all right?” Harry told her.
“I doubt she'll actually need you to say that,” Hermione said.
She nipped his finger affectionately, then, with a soft swooshing noise, spread her enormous wings and soared out of the open window.
Harry watched her out of sight, then crawled under his bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard, and pulled out a large chunk of birthday cake. He sat there on the floor eating it, savouring the happiness that was flooding through him.
“That's not something I'm used to when it comes to being at the Dursleys,” Harry said.
He had cake, and Dudley had nothing but grapefruit; it was a bright summer’s day, he would be leaving Privet Drive tomorrow, his scar felt perfectly normal again, and he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It was hard, just now, to feel worried about anything – even Lord Voldemort.
“And that probably just jinxed it,” Harry said. “Oh, and the chapters over.” He handed the book over to Hermione, who suddenly got a surprised look on her face, before she shook it.
“What?” Luna asked, having seen her face.
“Well, I was just thinking that this was the first time we've gotten through a chapter with the Dursleys without the knick-knacks breaking, but then I thought that it might be too soon to mention it, since we don't know if that was the only chapter with the Dursleys in this book or not,” she said.
“That's true,” Cedric said. “On both accounts. I have the feeling, though, that the next chapter will be about them, so you are right, it might be too soon to mention it.”
“Well, it looks like it'll be awhile before we find out,” Hermione said, after a glance at the clock, which showed that it was six, a good time to pause and eat dinner. See what she was seeing, they headed to the kitchen, where they quickly made something to eat. No one talked during that time, and they were soon back in the other room, where Hermione picked up the book and opened it to the next chapter.