Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, but there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and tried to look innocent.
    ‘Lovely evening!’ shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Mrs Number Seven opposite, who was glaring from behind her net curtains. ‘Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!’
    He continued to grin in a horrible, manic way until all the curious neighbours had disappeared from their various windows, then the grin became a grimace of rage as he beckoned Harry back towards him.
    Harry moved a few steps closer, taking care to stop just short of the point at which Uncle Vernon’s outstretched hands could resume their strangling.
    ‘What the devil do you mean by it, boy?’ asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury.
    ‘What do I mean by what?’ said Harry coldly. He kept looking left and right up the street, still hoping to see the person who had made the cracking noise.
    ‘Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our –’
    ‘I didn’t make that noise,’ said Harry firmly.
    Aunt Petunia’s thin, horsy face now appeared beside Uncle Vernon’s wide, purple one. She looked livid.
    ‘Why were you lurking under our window?’
    ‘Yes – yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing under our window, boy? ’
    ‘Listening to the news,’ said Harry in a resigned voice.
    His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.
    ‘Listening to the news! Again? ’
    ‘Well, it changes every day, you see,’ said Harry.
    ‘Don’t you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you’re really up to – and don’t give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot –’
    ‘Careful, Vernon!’ breathed Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that Harry could barely hear him, ‘– that your lot don’t get on our news!’
    ‘That’s all you know,’ said Harry.
    The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Aunt Petunia said, ‘You’re a nasty little liar. What are all those –’ she, too, lowered her voice so that Harry had to lip-read the next word, ‘– owls doing if they’re not bringing you news?’
    ‘Aha!’ said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. ‘Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn’t know you get all your news from those pestilential birds!’
    Harry hesitated for a moment. It cost him something to tell the truth this time, even though his aunt and uncle could not possibly know how bad he felt at admitting it.
    ‘The owls … aren’t bringing me news,’ he said tonelessly.
    ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Aunt Petunia at once.
    ‘No more do I,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully.
    ‘We know you’re up to something funny,’ said Aunt Petunia.
    ‘We’re not stupid, you know,’ said Uncle Vernon.
    ‘Well, that’s news to me,’ said Harry, his temper rising, and before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall and was striding off up the street.
    He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay the price for his rudeness, but he did not care very much just at the moment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.
    Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly the sound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanished into thin air. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive? Could Dobby be following him right at this very moment? As this thought occurred he wheeled around and stared back down Privet Drive, but it appeared to be completely deserted and Harry was sure that Dobby did not know how to become invisible.
    He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded these streets so often lately that his feet carried him to his favourite haunts automatically. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magical had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia’s dying begonias, he was sure of it. Why hadn’t they spoken to him, why hadn’t they made contact, why were they hiding now?
    And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, his certainty leaked away.
    Perhaps it hadn’t been a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so desperate for the tiniest sign of contact from the world to which he belonged that he was simply overreacting to perfectly