“You’ve forgotten the magic word,” said Harry irritably. “Dudley gets enough, don’t you, son?”ĭudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry. “Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings,” said Uncle Vernon heartily. “We must build you up while we’ve got the chance… I don’t like the sound of that school food…” “There’s more in the frying pan, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys’ son, Dudley. “I know what’ll happen if that owl’s let out.” He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia. “Do I look stupid?” snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. “If you can’t control that owl, it’ll have to go!” “Third time this week!” he roared across the table. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry’s room. Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive.
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