Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

couldn’t
explain 
how it had grown back so quickly. 
Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a 
revolting old sweater of Dudley’s (brown with orange puff balls). 
The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed 
to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but 
certainly wouldn’t fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must

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The Vanishing Glass 
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25 
‘
have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t pun-
ished. 
On the other hand, he’d gotten into terrible trouble for being 
found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been 
chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surprise as anyone 
else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had re-
ceived a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress telling them 
Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do 
(as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cup-
board) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen 
doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in 
mid-jump. 
But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth be-
ing with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that 
wasn’t school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg’s cabbage-smelling living 
room. 
While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He 
liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, 
Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. 
This morning, it was motorcycles. 
“. . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, 
as a motorcycle overtook them. 
“I had a dream about a motorcycle,” said Harry, remembering 
suddenly. “It was flying.” 
Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned 
right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic 
beet with a mustache: “MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!” 
Dudley and Piers sniggered. 

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CHAPTER TWO 
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26 
‘
“I know they don’t,” said Harry. “It was only a dream.” 
But he wished he hadn’t said anything. If there was one thing the 
Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talk-
ing about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it was 
in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get 
dangerous ideas. 
It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with fam-
ilies. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice 
creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the 
van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him 
away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn’t bad, either, 
Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its 
head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn’t 
blond. 
Harry had the best morning he’d had in a long time. He was 
careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley 
and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by 
lunchtime, wouldn’t fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting 
him. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a 
tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice 
cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry 
was allowed to finish the first. 
Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too 
good to last. 
After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark 
in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all 
sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of 
wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous

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The Vanishing Glass 
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27 
‘
cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found 
the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice 
around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a trash can — but at 
the moment it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep. 
Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at 
the glistening brown coils. 
“Make it move,” he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped 
on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge. 
“Do it again,” Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass 
smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on. 
“This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away. 
Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the 
snake. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom 
itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers 
on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than hav-
ing a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petu-
nia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit 
the rest of the house. 
The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it 
raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry’s.