and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote

control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the

paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone

looking both angry and worried.

 

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him."

She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

 

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on

Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to

adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was

left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry

hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look

at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

 

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned

this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but

it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had

to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

 

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

 

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

 

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there -- or