CHAPTER TWO
way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle
hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but be-
fore they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.
“I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face
right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy — any funny
business, anything at all — and you’ll be in that cupboard from
now until Christmas.”
I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly . . .”
But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did.
The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry
and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn’t make them
happen.
Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the bar-
bers looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of
kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except
for his bangs, which she left “to hide that horrible scar.” Dudley
had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night
imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for
his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had
gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petu-
nia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard
for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn’t explain
how it had grown back so quickly.
Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a
revolting old sweater of Dudley’s (brown with orange puff balls).
The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed
to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but
certainly wouldn’t fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must
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