CHAPTER FOUR
of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an’ you
was only a baby, an’ you lived.”
Something very painful was going on in Harry’s mind. As Ha-
grid’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green
light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and
he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high,
cold, cruel laugh.
Hagrid was watching him sadly.
“Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s or-
ders. Brought yeh ter this lot . . .”
“Load of old tosh,” said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had
almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon cer-
tainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Ha-
grid and his fists were clenched.
“Now, you listen here, boy,” he snarled, “I accept there’s some-
thing strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn’t
have cured — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were
weirdos, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in
my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these
wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they’d come
to a sticky end —”
But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a bat-
tered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle
Vernon like a sword, he said, “I’m warning you, Dursley — I’m
warning you — one more word . . .”
In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a
bearded giant, Uncle Vernon’s courage failed again; he flattened
himself against the wall and fell silent.
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