THE LETTERS
FROM NO ONE
“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Ver-
non shortly. “I have burned it.”
“It was not a mistake,” said Harry angrily, “it had my cupboard
on it.”
“SILENCE!” yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell
from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his
face into a smile, which looked quite painful.
“Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I
have been thinking . . . you’re really getting a bit big for it . . . we
think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bed-
room.”
“Why?” said Harry.
“Don’t ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff up-
stairs, now.”
The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon
and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister,
Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all
the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. It only
took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from
the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared
around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old
video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had
once driven over the next door neighbor’s dog; in the corner was
Dudley’s first-ever television set, which he’d put his foot through
when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large
birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped
at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all
bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of
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