CHAPTER THREE
his life, he wouldn’t be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at
Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was go-
ing there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall
High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.
“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at
Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”
“No, thanks,” said Harry. “The poor toilet’s never had anything
as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick.” Then he ran,
before Dudley could work out what he’d said.
One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy
his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg’s. Mrs. Figg
wasn’t as bad as usual. It turned out she’d broken her leg tripping
over one of her cats, and she didn’t seem quite as fond of them as
before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of choco-
late cake that tasted as though she’d had it for several years.
That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the
family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon
tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters.
They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while
the teachers weren’t looking. This was supposed to be good train-
ing for later life.
As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Ver-
non said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt
Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn’t believe it was her Ickle
Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn’t
trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already
have cracked from trying not to laugh.
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