十年过去了，住在姨夫姨母家的哈利从来没有过过生日。但是在他十一岁生日那天，一切都发生了变化。一只猫头鹰送来了一封信：邀请哈利去一个他从来没有听说过的神奇地方——霍格沃茨魔法学校——去上学。

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table
looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread
marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today --"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and
caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or
forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The
Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into
the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms
over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could
hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the
walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but
pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. I want you
all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just
pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that
no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way
through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward
the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had
hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack
his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask
where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a
sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em
off... shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was
howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry,
he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd
never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on
the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with
twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed
awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of
passing cars and wondering....

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast
for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner
of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an
'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his
hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and
following her from the dining room.

Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia
suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to
hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He
drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around,
shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The
same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across
a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully
late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked
them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dud
ley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on
tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. "

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday --
and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week,
because of television -- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh
birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun -- last
year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle
Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying
a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked
what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing
at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of
the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One
thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully,
clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed
to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with
a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray
water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so
all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down
their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed
like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and
sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed,
the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the
fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and
four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just
smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said
cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood
a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry
privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray
from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce
wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy
blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the
moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed
next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he
could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went
on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get
comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were
drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The
lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of
the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes'
time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the
Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer
was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped
the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if
it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would
be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal
one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock
like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching
noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty
... ten... nine -- maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him --
three... two... one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring
at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.




星期天早上，维能姨丈终于可以坐在桌旁吃早餐了。他看上去疲惫不堪，但是非常开心。
"今天没有信件。"他开心得把应该涂在面包上的蜜糖酱往报纸上涂。"今天没有那些该死的信件——"
在他说话的时候，厨房的烟囱一直飕飕作响，接着有什么东西突然掉在了他的后脑勺上。再下来，三十或者四十封信像子弹一样从烟囱里飞了下来。杜斯利一家吓得躲到了一边，哈利趁机跳起来抓到了一封——"出去！给我出去！"
维能姨丈把哈利拦腰抱起丢进了客厅。帕尤妮亚姨妈和达德里抱着脸跑出了厨房，维能姨丈砰的一声把门关上了。他们还可以听到那些信通过烟囱掉在墙上和地板上的声音。
"就这样办吧，"维能姨丈一边拔下一搓胡子一边尽量平静地说，"我命令你们用五分钟的时间收拾好东西准备离开。我们必须离开这里，只许带几件衣服，不要跟我讲条件！"
他看上去十分可怕，因为他的胡子已被拔去了一半，于是没有人敢反抗。十分钟以后，他们已经拆掉被打死的门坐到了车子里，向高速公路开去。达德里在后座上哭哭啼啼，因为刚刚他的爸爸因为他耽误了时间而打了他的头。当时达德里试着把他的电视机、录像机和电脑通通装进旅行袋。
他们不停地朝前开着车，帕尤妮亚姨妈都不敢问他们是到哪里去。维能姨丈会不时地来一个急转弯或者朝相反的方向开上好一阵子。
"甩掉他们……甩掉他们。"维能姨丈自言自语地说。
他们一整天都没有停下来吃东西或喝一口水。到天黑的时候，达德里开始号啕大哭起来，他一辈子都没有遇到过这么糟糕的一天。他饿极了。他错过了他想看的五档电视节目，他从来没有这么久没去电脑上打游戏了。
终于维能姨文在一个大城市郊外的一间看上去破破烂烂的旅馆外停下了车。达德里和哈利同住一个双人间。床上的床单潮湿而且发了霉，但是达德里很快就打起了鼾，可哈利怎么也睡不着。他坐在窗台上，盯着下面一辆辆飞驰而过的车，陷入了沉思……
第二天他们的早餐是发霉的玉米片，冷的罐头马铃薯夹吐司。
正要吃完的时候，旅馆的老板走过桌子旁边。
"打扰一下，你们中间有一位哈利o波特先生吗？我在前台收到了许多给他的信。"
她把信举在手上好让每个人看清那个用绿色墨水写的地址：叩可文斯镇铁路旅馆杜斯利夫人帕尤妮亚姨妈号房间哈利o波特先生收哈利飞快地抓住那封信，可是维能姨丈马上也把他的手抓住了。旅馆老板在一旁呆呆看着。
"把它们都给我吧。"维能姨丈快速地起身来跟着老板娘走出了餐厅。
"亲爱的，不如我们回家去吧。"几小时后，帕尤妮亚姨妈小心翼翼地提出建议，可是维能姨丈好像听不到她说话，没有人知道他在找什么。他载着他们开进了一片森林的深处，下车看了看，摇了一下头，又回到车里继续开车。同样的情形还发生在一片农田的中央，或者一架吊桥的中间和一座高楼的顶层停车场。
"爸爸是不是已经疯掉了？"那天下午达德里这样迟钝地问帕尤妮亚姨妈。维能姨丈把车停在海边，把他们都锁在车里然后自己离开了。
天下起雨来，巨大的雨滴敲击着车顶。达德里小声地哭起来。
"今天是星期一。"他告诉他妈妈，"今天晚上有'巨人哈伯特'看。我想找一个有电视机的地方。"
星期一，哈利忽然想起了什么。如果今天是星期——只要有达德里在，他就会知道今天是星期几，达德里是个电视迷——那么明天，星期二便是哈利的第十一个生日了。当然，他的生日也并不代表就一定会开心——去年，杜斯利家送给他一只挂衣架和维能姨丈的一双旧袜子。但是，你不可能天天都过十一岁生日啊。
维能姨丈回来了，脸上笑眯眯的。他拎着一只长条的包囊，但是当帕尤妮亚姨妈问他买了什么东西的时候他一个字都没答。
"我找到一个绝好的地方！"他叫道，"快来！每个人都出来。"
车外非常冷。维能姨丈所指的地方看上去像一片通向大海的岩石群。在岩石的顶部是你所能想象的世界上最小最简陋的棚房，很显然那里没有电视机。
"今晚预报会有暴风雨！"维能姨丈一边说一边兴奋地拍着手。
"但是这个好心人答应借他的船给我们用！"
一个没牙的老头蹒跚地向他们走过来，脸上邪邪地笑着，手指向了漂浮在铁青色的海水之上的一艘旧划船。
"我已经给每个人都准备好了食物。"维能姨丈说，"大家快上船吧！"
船里冷得像冰窖，冰冷的海水喷涌上来，雨水钻进了他们的脖子，凛冽的北风像鞭子一样抽打着他们的面庞。大概过了几小时他们才到达那片岩石，维能姨丈深一脚浅一脚在前面带路，向那间破旧得几乎要垮掉的破房子走去。
房间里更为恐怖，散发出一股浓烈的海藻味。冷风从木头做的墙壁缝间呼啸而入，壁炉又空又潮湿，屋子里面只有两间房子。
维能姨丈所准备的食物不过是每人一包薯条和四只香蕉。他打算用空的薯条包装袋来点火，可是袋子冒了一阵烟就灭了。
"不如用那些信来点火吧。"他兴奋地说，维能姨丈看上去心情好极了，很显然他认为没有人有可能在暴风雨中把信送到一个孤岛上来。哈利私下里也这么认为，虽然他并不希望事情是这样子。
夜晚来临的时候，暴风雨如期而至。巨大的海浪拍打着小木屋的墙壁，破烂的窗户在猛烈的北风中瑟瑟发抖。帕尤妮亚姨妈在第二间房子里找到了一些发霉的毯子，并且给达德里在一张虫蛀过的沙发上铺了一张床。她和维能姨丈在隔壁的房间睡下了。而哈利只能在地板上找一块最软的地方栖身，分配给他的毛毯也是最薄、最烂的那张。
接近夜深的时候，暴风雨愈来愈肆虐了。哈利无法入睡，他觉得发抖，在地板上翻来覆去希望找到一个舒适的位置。他肚子饿得咕咕响。半夜的时候，达德里的鼾声被低沉的雷声淹没了。搭在沙发边上的达德里肥肥的手腕上的可以发光的手表清楚地告诉哈利再过十分钟他就要满十一岁了。哈利躺在地上，看着自己的生日一步步临近，心里想着杜斯利一家不会记得他的生日以及那个给他写信的人现在在哪里。
只有五分钟了，哈利突然听到外面有一些嘎嘎的声音。他希望不是屋顶要塌下来了，虽然它塌下来自己会暖和一些。只有四分钟了，可能现在杜斯利家的房子里现在堆满了信件，那么我们回去的时候我可能可以偷到一两封看呢。哈利痴痴地想着。
还有三分钟。潮浪拍击岩石的声音是那样的吗？还有两分钟。
嘎吱嘎吱的声音是从哪里发出来的？是岩石被打落到海里的声音吗？
还有一分钟他就十一岁了。还有三十秒钟……二十秒……十秒——九秒——可能他应该把达德里吵醒——3——2——1——只听一声巨响。
整个木屋都颤抖了。哈利直直地坐了起来，盯着门口。有人正在外面敲门。

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