“dad.”dudleylookedpained.“don’t.”

“well,wedid!”evenauntpetunialookedafraid,now.“wefedhim,andwelothedhim,andwebroughthimupasoneofourown—”

harryouldn’ttakeitanymore.itfeltlikethatnightwithauntmarge,whereitbeamehingtoomany.andhewasn’tgoingtopretendthatthishurtmorethanhethoughtitwould,beauseafterallthosenightswithdudleyandhowwelldinnerhadwent,hehadatuallyonvinedhimselfthattheymightstarttolikehim.hewaswrong.

“howyouraisedme?”hisvoiewaslow,buteveryoneouldhearit.“youdidn’traiseme.him—”hejerkedhisheadtowardsdudley,whowaslingingtohiswinegssandlookinglikehewantedtosinkthroughthefloor.“himyouraised.he’stheoneyoufed.he’stheoneyouboughtallthepresentsfor,andthrewbirthdaysfor,andgavehimarealbedroom.theoneyouaredfor.hewasyourson.andwhatwasi?”

noanswer.

hewantedananswer,andhewasgoingtogetone.“whatwasi,vernon?”ifhewasyounger,thislevelofangerwouldsendhismagispiralingoutofontrol,butasitwasheouldjustfeelhimselfshakingwiththeinjustieofitall.“saywhatiwas.”nothing.“iwasthethingthatshoweduponyourdoorstepthatyouwantedtosendoutwiththeweek’sgarbage,wasn’ti?astainonyourperfetfamilyimage.iwasn’ttheoneyouraised.iwastheoneyoustarved.iwastheoneyouhated.iwastheoneyoulokedinthelosetandliedto,foryears.”noonemoved.onlydraotriedtomakeitbetter,reahingouttograbatharry’shand,butheflunghimoff.“tellmeifi’mwrong.”

mehanially,harrysatdownthewinegss.“youwanttoknowsomething?afteralltheseyears,allthehorriblethingsi’veseen,allthepeopleiwatheddie,istillfindmyselfthinkingthatwhathappenedinthishousewaswhatruinedme.”hewassayingeverythinghehadneverhadbeenabletosaybefore,butsuddenly,hedidn’twanttobethereanymore

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