#PINCERS IN THE SCRUFFS GAME CRACK#
Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole.
"OUT!" Uncle Vernon roared, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. "Get out, both of you," Uncle Vernon croaked, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope. "I believe I'm entitled to read it," Harry said, glaring at Dudley, "as it's mine." "I want to read that letter," he said loudly. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick. They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.ĭudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. "Who'd be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon sneered, opening the envelope, taking out the letter and shaking it open with one hand and glancing at it.
"That's mine," Harry said, trying to snatch it back. "Don't linger, and give me the mail, boy!" he ordered gruffly as he wobbled back into the kitchen, Harry following closely.
How did the sender know exactly where he lived? He was about to open it, when it was snatched out of his hand by Uncle Vernon, who glared down at him. A letter, for him? That had never happened before. "Hey, Uncle, can I get a pipe?"ġ0-year old Harry, soon to be 11, stared at the letter in his hand. "Coming, Uncle Vernon, sorry!" he yelled, rushing down the stairs. Was it four already? Harry hastily snapped the book shut and carefully placed it back in the bookshelf, before grabbing the beaten old violin case on his bed, rushing out of the room. "YOU INSISTED ON GETTING A VIOLIN! YOU INSISTED ON ME DRIVING YOU TO PRACTICE, SO YOU BETTER GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!" "BOY!" came the roar of Uncle Vernon from downstairs. Harry's nose dove into the 'A Study in Scarlet' book again, and he hummed to himself. He had Dudley's second room, but there was hardly anything in it, only a hard, uncomfortable bed, a desk, a bookshelf with the entire Holmes collection in it, a wardrobe, and a wall mirror. The Dursley family had treated him somewhat like a family member, though more like a distant relative that nobody liked. He nodded to himself as he tried to adjust his face, attempting to maintain a pompous, yet normal look. "Elementry." ten-year old Harry practiced in front of the mirror. To further make him realize this, they did something they'd never done before. His aunt and uncle had made sure to drill it into his head that there is no such thing as magic. That was what Harry had been told for as long as he could remember. Here you go (REVIEW!), the prologue (REVIEW!) of the revised version! Just remember (REVIEW) to leave a REVIEW at the (REVIEW) door! Summary: What if the Dursleys gave Harry the Sherlock Holmes books when he was a child to make sure he knew that there was no such thing as magic? What if he did everything to become just like Holmes? May seem rushed, but more coming.
0 kommentar(er)
