As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry
made both of them jump.
"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T
BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"
Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.
"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the
ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What
came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened -- one second,
Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next,
they had leapt back with howls of horror.
Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's
tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly,
slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house
screamed and started running for the exits.
As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low,
hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come.... Thanksss, amigo."
The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.
"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"
The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong,
sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and
Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake
hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it
passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car,
Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while
Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst
of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say,
"Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"
Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house
before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He
managed to say, "Go -- cupboard -- stay -- no meals," before he
collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a
large brandy.
Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a
watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the
Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking
to the kitchen for some food.
He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable
years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby
and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember
being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he
strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up
with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burn-
ing pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though
he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't
remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about
them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were
no photographs of them in the house.
When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some
unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened;
the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe
hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange
strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed
to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After
asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed
them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old
woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A
bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in
the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The
weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to
vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.
When you have eliminated the impossible,whatever remains,however improbable must be truth.
——Sherlock Holmes
