Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the Dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?
    ‘These Demembers guard some weirdo prison?’ asked Uncle Vernon, lumbering along in the wake of Harry’s train of thought.
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry.
    If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his dark bedroom and think …
    ‘Oho! They were coming to arrest you!’ said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, boy? You’re on the run from the law!’
    ‘Of course I’m not,’ said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare off a fly, his mind racing now.
    ‘Then why –?’
    ‘He must have sent them,’ said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon.
    ‘What’s that? Who must have sent them?’
    ‘Lord Voldemort,’ said Harry.
    He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, winced and squawked if they heard words like ‘wizard’, ‘magic’ or ‘wand’, could hear the name of the most evil wizard of all time without the slightest tremor.
    ‘Lord – hang on,’ said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. ‘I’ve heard that name … that was the one who –’
    ‘Murdered my parents, yes,’ Harry said.
    ‘But he’s gone,’ said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry’s parents might be a painful topic. ‘That giant bloke said so. He’s gone.’
    ‘He’s back,’ said Harry heavily.
    It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia’s surgically clean kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the Dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond. Harry’s two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned upside-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the magical world, and Mrs Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; Dementors were soaring around Little Whinging, and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harry’s head throbbed more painfully.
    ‘Back?’ whispered Aunt Petunia.
    She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother’s sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sister’s) were not narrowed in dislike or anger, they were wide and fearful. The furious pretence that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry’s life – that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon – seemed to have fallen away.
    ‘Yes,’ Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. ‘He came back a month ago. I saw him.’
    Her hands found Dudley’s massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them.
    ‘Hang on,’ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. ‘Hang on. This Lord Voldything’s back, you say.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘The one who murdered your parents.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And now he’s sending Dismembers after you?’
    ‘Looks like it,’ said Harry.
    ‘I see,’ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face stretching before Harry’s eyes. ‘Well, that settles it,’ he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, ‘ you can get out of this house, boy! ’
    ‘What?’ said Harry.
    ‘You heard me – OUT!’ Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. ‘OUT! OUT! I should’ve done this years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley’s tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling and that flying Ford Anglia – OUT! OUT! You’ve had it! You’re history! You’re not staying here if some loony’s after you, you’re not