Dursleys would like him any better in Majorca than they did on
Privet Drive.
"Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for
Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry. "You stay out of
your aunt's way while she's cleaning."
Harry left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day.
He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang
under his breath:
6
"Happy birthday to me ... happy birthday to me. . .
No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening
pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had
never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more
even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron
Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be
missing him at all. Neither of them had written to him all summer,
even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come and
stay.
Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking
Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione
with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't
allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry hadn't told the
Dursleys this; he knew it was only their terror that he might turn them
all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking him in the
cupboard under the stairs with his wand and broomstick. For the first
couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words
under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast
as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and
Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that
even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal - and now Ron and Hermione
had forgotten his birthday.
What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any
witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy,
Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream ....
Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of
last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord
Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but
he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power.
Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but
it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept
waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where
Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes
Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been
staring absent-mindedly into the hedge - and the hedge was staring back.
Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.
Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the
7
lawn.
"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward him.
The huge eyes blinked and vanished.
"What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where they had
been.
"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.