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I’m not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took him in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window.
Tuesday, was Harry’s eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun.
Did you know you can highlight text to take a note?
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