Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and Harry couldn’t see any
way out of his situation. He lay on his bed watching the sun sinking
behind the bars on the
window and wondered miserably what was going to happen to him.
What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if Hogwarts would expel him for doing
it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren’t
going to wake up as fruit bats, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved Harry from
horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, he’d probably starve to death
anyway.
The cat-flap rattled and
Aunt Petunias hand appeared, pushing a bowl of canned soup into the
room. Harry, whose insides were aching with hunger, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup
was stone-cold, but he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig’s cage
and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her empty food tray. She ruffled
her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust.
“It’s no good turning your beak up at it — that’s all we’ve got,” said Harry grimly.
He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on the bed,
somehow even hungrier than he had been before the soup.
Supposing he was still
alive in another four weeks, what would happen if he didn’t turn up at
Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why he hadn’t come back? Would they be able to
make the Dursleys let him go?
The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same
unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.
He dreamed
that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading UNDERAGE WIZARD attached
to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of
straw. He saw Dobby’s face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but
Dobby called,
“Harry Potter is safe there, sir!” and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled
the bars of the cage, laughing at him.
“Stop it,” Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore head. “Leave me alone… cut it
out… I’m trying to sleep…”
He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone
was
goggling through the bars at him: a freckle-faced,
red-haired, long-nosed someone.
Ron Weasley was outside Harry’s window.