Counter strike 1.6 magesy

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Who would be writing to Uncle Vernon about him. Who did he know who sent letters by check this out postman. Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, then looked down at the letter and began to read aloud: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron. As Harry might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I do hope you will allow us to take Harry to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasnt hosted the Cup for thirty years, and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have Harry stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see him safely onto the train back to school. It would be best for Harry to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is. Hoping to see Harry soon, Yours sincerely, P. I do hope weve put enough stamps on. Uncle Vernon finished reading, put his hand back into his breast pocket, and drew out something else. Look at this, he growled. He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasleys letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys address in minute writing. She did put enough stamps on, then, said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasleys was a mistake anyone could make. His uncles eyes flashed. The postman noticed, he said through gritted teeth. Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. Thats why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny. Harry didnt say anything. Other people might not understand why Uncle Vernon was making a fuss about too many stamps, but Harry had lived with the Dursleys too long not to know how touchy they were about anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Their worst fear was that someone would find out that they were connected (however distantly) with people like Mrs. Weasley. Uncle Vernon was still glaring at Harry, who tried to keep his expression neutral. If he didnt do or say anything stupid, he might just be in for the treat of a lifetime. He waited for Uncle Vernon to say something, but he merely continued to glare. Harry decided to break the silence. So - can I go then. he asked. A slight spasm crossed Uncle Vernons large purple face. The mustache bristled. Harry thought he knew what was going on behind the mustache: a furious battle as two of Uncle Vernons most fundamental instincts came into conflict. Allowing Harry to go would make Harry happy, something Uncle Vernon had struggled against for thirteen years. On the other hand, allowing Harry to disappear to the Weasleys for the rest of the summer would get rid of him two weeks earlier than anyone could have hoped, and Uncle Vernon hated having Harry in the house. To give himself thinking time, it seemed, he looked down at Mrs. Weasleys letter again. Who is this woman. he said, staring at the signature with distaste. Youve seen her, said Counter strike 1.6 magesy. Shes my friend Rons mother, she was meeting him off the Hog - off the school train at the end of last term. He had almost said Hogwarts Express, and that was a sure way to get his uncles temper up. Nobody ever mentioned here name of Harrys school aloud in the Dursley household. Uncle Vernon screwed up his enormous face as though trying to remember something very unpleasant. Dumpy sort of woman. he growled finally. Load of children with red hair. Harry frowned. He thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone dumpy, when his own son, Dudley, had finally Counter strike 1.6 magesy what hed been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall. Uncle Vernon was perusing the letter again. Quidditch, he muttered under his breath. Quidditch - what is this rubbish. Harry felt a second stab of annoyance. Its a sport, he said shortly. Played on broom - All right, all right. said Uncle Vernon loudly. Harry saw, with some satisfaction, that his uncle looked vaguely panicky. Apparently his nerves couldnt stand the sound of the word broomsticks in his living room. He took refuge in perusing the letter again. Harry saw his lips form the words send us your answer. in the normal way. He scowled. What does she mean, the normal way. he spat. Normal for us, said Harry, and before his uncle could stop him, he added, you know, owl post. Thats whats normal for wizards. Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if Harry had just uttered a disgusting swearword. Shaking with anger, he shot a nervous look through the window, as though expecting to see some of the neighbors with their ears pressed against the glass. How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof. he hissed, his face now a rich plum color. You pubg game names symbols there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful back - Only after Dudley finished with them, said Harry coldly, and indeed, he was dressed in a sweatshirt so large for him that he had had to roll back the sleeves five times so as to be able to use his hands, and which fell past the knees of his extremely baggy jeans. I will not be spoken to like that. said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage. But Harry wasnt going to stand for this. Gone were the days when he had been forced to take every single one of the Dursleys stupid rules. He wasnt following Dudleys diet, and he wasnt going to let Uncle Vernon stop him from going to the Quidditch World Cup, not if he could help it. Harry took a deep, steadying breath and then said, Okay, I cant see the World Cup. Can I go now, then. Only Ive got a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know - my godfather. He had done it. He had said the magic words. Now he watched the purple recede blotchily from Uncle Vernons face, making it look like badly mixed black currant ice cream. Youre - youre writing to him, are you. said Uncle Vernon, in a wouldbe calm voice - but Harry had seen the pupils of his tiny eyes contract with sudden fear. Well - yeah, said Harry, casually. Its been a while since he heard from me, and, you know, if he doesnt, he might start thinking somethings wrong. He stopped there to enjoy the effect of these words. He could almost see the cogs working under Uncle Vernons thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop Harry writing to Sirius, Sirius would think Harry was being mistreated. If he told Harry he couldnt go to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry would write and tell Sirius, who would know Harry was being mistreated. There was only one thing for Uncle Vernon to do. Harry could see the conclusion forming in his uncles mind as though the great mustached face were transparent. Harry tried not to smile, to keep his own face as blank as possible. And then - Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy. this stupid. this World Cup thing. You write and tell these - these Weasleys theyre to pick you up, mind. I havent got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your - your godfather. tell him. tell him youre going. Okay then, said Harry brightly. He turned and walked toward the living room door, fighting the urge to jump into the air and whoop. He was going. he was going to the Weasleys, he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. Outside in the hall he nearly ran into Dudley, who had been lurking behind the door, clearly hoping to overhear Harry being told off. He looked shocked to see the broad grin on Harrys face. That was an excellent breakfast, wasnt it. said Harry. I feel really full, dont you. Laughing at the astonished look on Dudleys face, Harry took the stairs three at a time, and hurled himself back into his bedroom. The first thing he saw was that Hedwig was back. She was sitting in her cage, staring at Harry with her enormous amber eyes, here clicking her beak in the way that meant she was annoyed about something. Exactly what was annoying her became apparent almost at once. OUCH. said Harry as what appeared to be a small, gray, feathery tennis ball collided with the side of his head. Harry massaged the spot furiously, looking up to see what had hit him, and saw a minute owl, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, whizzing excitedly around the room like a loose firework. Harry then realized that the owl had dropped a letter at his feet. Harry bent down, recognized Rons handwriting, then tore open the envelope. Inside was a hastily scribbled note. Harry - DAD GOT THE TICKETS - Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mums writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I dont know how fast Muggle post is. Thought Id send this with Pig anyway. Harry stared at the word Pig, then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming around the light fixture on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less like a pig. Maybe he couldnt read Rons writing. He went back to the letter: Were coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you cant miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon its better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and well come and get you at five oclock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and well come and get you at five oclock on Sunday anyway. Hermiones arriving this afternoon. Percys started work - the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Dont mention anything about Abroad while youre here unless you want the pants bored off you. See you soon - Calm down. Harry said as the small owl flew low over his head, twittering madly with what Harry could only assume was pride at having delivered the letter to the right person. Come here, I need you to take my answer back. The owl fluttered down on top of Hedwigs cage. Hedwig looked coldly up at it, as though daring it to try and come any closer. Harry seized his eagle-feather quill once more, grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote: Ron, its all okay, the Muggles say I can come. See you five oclock tomorrow. Cant wait. He folded this note up very small, and with immense difficulty, tied it to the tiny owls leg as it hopped on the spot with excitement. The moment the note was secure, the owl was off again; it zoomed out of the window and out of sight. Harry turned to Hedwig. Feeling up to a long journey. he asked her. Hedwig hooted in a dignified sort of a way. Can you take this to Sirius for me. he said, picking up his letter. Hang on. I just want to finish it. He unfolded the parchment and hastily added a postscript. If you want to contact me, Ill be at my friend Ron Weasleys for the rest of the summer. His dads got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup. The letter finished, he tied it to Hedwigs leg; she kept unusually still, as though determined to show him how a real post owl should behave. Ill be at Rons when you get back, all right. Harry told her. She nipped his finger affectionately, then, with a soft swooshing noise, spread her enormous wings and soared out of the open window. Harry watched her out of sight, then crawled under his bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard, and pulled out a large chunk of birthday cake. He sat there on the floor eating it, savoring the happiness that was flooding through him. He had cake, and Dudley had nothing but grapefruit; it was like shark steam mop euro pro s3101 happens bright summers day, he would be leaving Privet Drive tomorrow, his scar felt perfectly normal again, and he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It was hard, just now, to feel worried about anything - even Lord Voldemort. B CHAPTER FOUR BACK TO THE BURROW y twelve oclock the next day, Harrys school trunk was packed with his school things and all his most prized possessions - the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, the broomstick he had gotten from Sirius, the enchanted map of Hogwarts he had been given by Fred and George Weasley last year. He had emptied his hiding place under the loose floorboard of all food, double-checked every nook and cranny of his bedroom for forgotten spellbooks or quills, and taken down the chart on the wall counting down the days to September the first, on which he liked to cross off the days remaining until his return to Hogwarts. The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense. The imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when Harry informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five oclock the very next day. I hope you told them to dress properly, these people, he snarled at once. Ive seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. Theyd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, thats all. Harry felt a slight sense of foreboding. He had rarely seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wearing anything that the Dursleys would call normal. Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness. Harry wasnt bothered about what the neighbors would think, but he was anxious about how rude the Dursleys might be to the Weasleys if they turned up looking like their worst idea of wizards. Uncle Vernon had put on his best suit. To some people, this might have looked like a gesture of welcome, but Harry knew it was because Uncle Vernon wanted to look impressive and intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow diminished. This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due to fright. Dudley had emerged from his last encounter with a fully-grown wizard with a curly pigs tail poking out of the seat of his trousers, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had had to pay for its removal at a private hospital in London. It wasnt altogether surprising, therefore, that Dudley kept running his hand nervously over his backside, and walking sideways from room to room, so as not to present the same target to the enemy. Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didnt even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasnt eating anything at all. Her arms were folded, her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting back the furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry. Theyll be driving, of course. Uncle Vernon barked across the table. Er, said Harry. He hadnt thought of that. How were the Weasleys going to pick him up. They didnt have a car anymore; the old Ford Anglia they had once owned was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley had borrowed a Ministry of Magic car last year; possibly he would do the same today. I think so, said Harry. Uncle Vernon snorted into his mustache. Normally, Uncle Vernon would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended to judge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But Harry doubted whether Uncle Vernon would have taken to Mr. Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari. Harry spent most of the afternoon in his bedroom; he couldnt stand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtains every few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. Finally, at a quarter to five, Harry went back downstairs and into the living room. Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving, and Harry was sure he was really listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. Harry couldnt take the tension; he left the room and went and sat on the stairs in the hall, his eyes on his watch and his heart pumping fast from excitement and nerves. But five oclock came and then went. Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly. Theyre late. he snarled at Harry. I know, said Harry. Maybe - er - the traffics bad, or something.

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