THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS
The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his
head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door,
and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm out-
side dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.
“Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy
journey. . . .”
He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.
“Budge up, yeh great lump,” said the stranger.
Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was
crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.
“An’ here’s Harry!” said the giant.
Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that
the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.
“Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby,” said the giant. “Yeh
look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mom’s eyes.”
Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.
“I demand that you leave at once, sir!” he said. “You are break-
ing and entering!”
“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” said the giant; he
reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Ver-
non’s hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of
rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.
Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being
trodden on.
“Anyway — Harry,” said the giant, turning his back on the
Dursleys, “a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh
here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.”
From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly
47