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    Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. 
    Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.
    "Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. --."
    "Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"
    Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon. 
    "That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back. 
    "Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge. 
    "P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. 
    Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. 
    "Vernon! Oh my goodness -- Vernon!" 
    They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.
    "I want to read that letter," he said loudly. "I want to read it,"said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."