Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Reading Level

Chapter ane Owl Post

  Harry Potter was a highly unusual male child in many ways. For ane matter, he hated the summertime holidays more than any other time of yr. For another, he really wanted to practise his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of nighttime. And he also happened to be a wizard.

It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets fatigued right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one mitt and a large leather-bound volume (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open up against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-plume quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, 'Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless -- discuss. '

The quill paused at the top of a likely looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses upward the span of his olfactory organ, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read:

Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were specially agape of magic in medieval times, merely non very proficient at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect any. The witch or magician would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Amuse and then pretend to shriek with hurting while enjoying a gentle, tickling awareness. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to exist caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.

Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his inkbottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into information technology, and began to write, pausing every now and so to mind, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably notice himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.

The Dursley family of Number 4, Privet Bulldoze, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Harry's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden every bit possible, they would exist able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury, they had not been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent virtually of the last ii years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, all the same, was to lock away Harry's spell books, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the outset of the summertime break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.

This separation from his spell books had been a real trouble for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty i near shrinking potions, was for Harry's least favorite instructor, Professor Snape, who would be delighted to accept an excuse to give Harry detention for a month. Harry had therefore seized his take a chance in the start week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon'southward new company car (in very loud voices, so that the remainder of the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the closet under the stairs, grabbed some of his books, and subconscious them in his bedroom. As long as he didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night.

Harry was particularly keen to avert trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because he'd received a phone telephone call from a fellow sorcerer 1 calendar week into the school vacation.

Ron Weasley, who was ane of Harry'southward best friends at Hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry didn't, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, information technology had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.

"Vernon Dursley speaking. "

Harry, who happened to be in the room at the fourth dimension, froze as he heard Ron's voice reply.

"Howdy? HELLO? CAN Yous HEAR ME? I -- WANT -- TO -- TALK -- TO -- HARRY -- POTTER!"

Ron was yelling and then loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot abroad from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm.

"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"

"RON -- WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'One thousand -- A -- FRIEND -- OF -- HARRY'S -- FROM -- School --"

Uncle Vernon'south small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot.

"THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER Here!" he roared, at present holding the receiver at arm's length, as though frightened it might explode. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING Virtually! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME Almost MY FAMILY!"

And he threw the receiver dorsum onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.

The fight that had followed had been one of the worst ever.

"HOW DARE YOU Give THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE Similar -- PEOPLE Like YOU!" Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Harry with spit.

Ron patently realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble, considering he hadn't called again. Harry's other best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't been in bear upon either. Harry suspected that Ron had warned Hermione not to call, which was a pity, because Hermione, the cleverest witch in Harry'southward yr, had Muggle parents, knew perfectly well how to use a phone, and would probably have had enough sense not to say that she went to Hogwarts.

So Harry had had no word from whatever of his wizarding friends for five long weeks, and this summertime was turning out to be almost as bad as the last ane. At that place was just ane very small comeback -- later swearing that he wouldn't use her to send messages to any of his friends, Harry had been allowed to permit his owl, Hedwig, out at night. Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig made if she was locked in her cage all the time.

Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to listen once again. The silence in the dark house was broken only past the afar, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley. It must be very tardily, Harry thought. His eyes were itching with tiredness. Perhaps he'd finish this essay tomorrow nighttime. . .

He replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcase from under his bed; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, his essay, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid the lot nether a loose floorboard nether his bed. And so he stood up, stretched, and checked the fourth dimension on the luminous warning clock on his bedside tabular array.

It was one o'clock in the morning. Harry'southward stomach gave a funny jolt. He had been xiii years old, without realizing information technology, for a whole hour.

Yet another unusual matter near Harry was how little he looked forward to his birthdays. He had never received a altogether carte in his life. The Dursleys had completely ignored his last two birthdays, and he had no reason to suppose they would call up this 1.

Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig's large, empty cage, to the open window. He leaned on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on his face afterwards a long time under the blankets. Hedwig had been absent for two nights now. Harry wasn't worried about her: she'd been gone this long before. But he hoped she'd be dorsum soon -- she was the only living fauna in this firm who didn't flinch at the sight of him.

Harry, though notwithstanding rather small and skinny for his historic period, had grown a few inches over the final yr. His jet-black hair, notwithstanding, was only as information technology e'er had been -- stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it. The eyes behind his spectacles were bright dark-green, and on his forehead, conspicuously visible through his pilus, was a th

in scar, shaped similar a commodities of lightning.

Of all the unusual things virtually Harry, this scar was the most extraordinary of all. Information technology was not, equally the Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killed Harry's parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a auto crash. They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Nighttime wizard for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort. Harry had escaped from the same attack with nothing more than a scar on his forehead, where Voldemort's curse, instead of killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely live, Voldemort had fled. . .

But Harry had come face-to-face with him at Hogwarts. Remembering their final meeting every bit he stood at the night window, Harry had to admit he was lucky even to have reached his thirteenth birthday.

He scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring dorsum to him with a dead mouse dangling from her beak, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few seconds before Harry realized what he was seeing.

Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided animate being, and it was flapping in Harry'southward management. He stood quite notwithstanding, watching information technology sink lower and lower. For a separate second he hesitated, his hand on the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. Merely and then the baroque creature soared over one of the street lamps of Privet Bulldoze, and Harry, realizing what it was, leapt bated.

Through the window soared three owls, 2 of them holding up the 3rd, which appeared to exist unconscious. They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and gray, keeled right over and lay motionless. At that place was a large package tied to its legs.

Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once -- his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed, untied the cords effectually Errol's legs, took off the parcel, and and then carried Errol to Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one membranous middle, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water.

Harry turned dorsum to the remaining owls. One of them, the big snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was conveying a parcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak every bit he removed her burden, then flew across the room to join Errol.

Harry didn't recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny i, merely he knew at once where information technology had come from, considering in addition to a tertiary packet, it was carrying a letter begetting the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, information technology ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.

Harry sat downwards on his bed and grabbed Errol'due south parcel, ripped off the brown paper, and discovered a present wrapped in gold and his first ever birthday bill of fare. Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. Ii pieces of paper fell out -- a alphabetic character and a paper clipping.

The clipping had clearly come up out of the wizarding newspaper, the Daily Prophet, because the people in the black-and-white film were moving. Harry picked upwardly the clipping, smoothed it out, and read:

MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Function at the Ministry building of Magic, has won the almanac Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.

A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the golden on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Banking concern. "

The Weasley family will be spending a calendar month in Arab republic of egypt, returning for the start of the new school yr at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.

Harry scanned the moving photograph, and a grin spread across his face as he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at him, standing in front end of a large pyramid. Plump trivial Mrs. Weasley; tall, balding Mr. Weasley; six sons; and one daughter, all (though the black-and-white picture didn't show it) with flaming-cerise hair. Correct in the middle of the picture was Ron, tall and gangling, with his pet rat, Scabbers, on his shoulder and his arm around his fiddling sister, Ginny.

Harry couldn't think of anyone who deserved to win a big pile of gilt more than than the Weasleys, who were very nice and extremely poor. He picked up Ron's letter and unfolded it.

Dearest Harry,

Happy birthday!

Wait, I'thou actually sorry about that call. I hope the Muggles didn't give you a hard time. I asked Dad, and he reckons I shouldn't accept shouted.

It's amazing here in Egypt. Pecker's taken the states around all the tombs and yous wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum wouldn't let Ginny come in the last one. There were all these mutant skeletons in in that location, of Muggles who'd broken in and grown actress heads and stuff.

I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Describe. 7 hundred galleons! About of it'south gone on this trip, only they're going to purchase me a new wand for next yr.

Harry remembered only too well the occasion when Ron's sometime wand had snapped. Information technology had happened when the auto the 2 of them had been flying to Hogwarts had crashed into a tree on the school grounds.

Nosotros'll be back most a week before term starts and nosotros'll exist going upwards to London to go my wand and our new books. Any chance of meeting yous there?

Don't permit the Muggles get you down!

Try and come to London,

Ron

P. Southward. Percy'south Caput Boy. He got the letter of the alphabet last week.

Harry glanced dorsum at the photo. Percy, who was in his seventh and final twelvemonth at Hogwarts, was looking particularly smug. He had pinned his Head Boy badge to the fez perched jauntily on top of his neat hair, his horn-rimmed spectacles flashing in the Egyptian sun.

Harry now turned to his nowadays and unwrapped it. Within was what looked similar a miniature glass spinning meridian. There was another note from Ron beneath it.

Harry -- this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If at that place'due south someone untrustworthy effectually, it'southward supposed to lite upwards and spin. Bill says it'south rubbish sold for sorcerer tourists and isn't reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last dark. But he didn't realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.

Bye -- Ron

Harry put the Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where it stood quite still, balanced on its betoken, reflecting the luminous hands of his clock. He looked at it happily for a few seconds, and so picked up the parcel Hedwig had brought.

Inside this, as well, there was a wrapped nowadays, a menu, and a letter, this fourth dimension from Hermione.

Beloved Harry,

Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I practice hope you lot're all right.

I'1000 on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to transport this to yous -- what if they'd opened it at customs? -- but then Hedwig turned up! I recollect she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present past owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I've been getting it delivered; it'southward so expert to keep upwardly with what's going on in the wizarding world), Did yous run across that pic of Ron and his family unit a calendar week ago? I bet he'south learning loads. I'm really jealous -- the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.

At that place's some interesting local history of witchcraft here, also. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I've establish out, I hope it'due south not too long -- it'due south two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.

Ron says he'southward going to be in London in the final week of the holidays. Tin can you get in? Volition your aunt and uncle let yous come up? I actually promise yous tin. If not, I'll run across you on the Hogwarts Express on September first!

Dear from

Hermione

P. S. Ron says Percy'southward Head Male child. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. Ron doesn't seem too happy about information technology.

Harry laughed equally he put Hermione's letter aside and picked up her present. It was very heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sure information technology would be a large volume full of very difficult spells -- but it wasn't. His heart gave a huge bound as he ripped dorsum the newspaper and saw a sleek blac

m leather case, with silver words stamped across it, reading Broomstick Servicing Kit.

"Wow, Hermione!" Harry whispered, unzipping the example to look inside.

There was a large jar of Fleetwood'due south High-End Handle Smoothen, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.

Autonomously from his friends, the affair that Harry missed most about Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most pop sport in the magical world -- highly dangerous, very heady, and played on broomsticks. Harry happened to exist a very proficient Quidditch thespian; he had been the youngest person in a century to exist picked for one of the Hogwarts Business firm teams. One of Harry's most prized possessions was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom.

Harry put the leather instance aside and picked up his last package. He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, just before he could unwrap information technology properly, the parcel gave a foreign quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly -- every bit though it had jaws.

Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never ship him annihilation unsafe on purpose, only and so, Hagrid didn't have a normal person'southward view of what was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy savage, three-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his motel.

Harry poked the bundle nervously. It snapped loudly over again. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the residual of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.

And out fell -- a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome green comprehend, emblazoned with the golden championship The Monster Book of Monsters, before information technology flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.

"Uh-oh," Harry muttered.

The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. Harry followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in the dark space nether his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast asleep, Harry got downwards on his hands and knees and reached toward it.

"Ouch!"

The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself frontwards, and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the room next door.

Hedwig and Errol watched interestedly as Harry clamped the struggling book tightly in his arms, hurried to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a belt, which he buckled tightly around it. The Monster Book shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, so Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid's card.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Think y'all might discover this useful for next yr. Won't say no more than hither. Tell you when I see y'all.

Hope the Muggles are treating you right.

All the all-time,

Hagrid

It struck Harry as ominous that Hagrid thought a biting book would come up in useful, but he put Hagrid's card up adjacent to Ron's and Hermione'southward, grinning more broadly than e'er. At present there was only the letter from Hogwarts left.

Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual, Harry slit open up the envelope, pulled out the first folio of parchment within, and read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

Please note that the new school yr will begin on September the offset. The Hogwarts Express volition exit from King's Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock.

Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on sure weekends. Delight give the enclosed permission grade to your parent or guardian to sign.

A listing of books for side by side yr is enclosed.

Yours sincerely,

Professor One thousand. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission class and looked at it, no longer smiling. It would exist wonderful to visit Hogsmeade on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot there. Just how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form?

He looked over at the alarm clock. Information technology was at present two o'clock in the morning.

Deciding that he'd worry nigh the Hogsmeade form when he woke upwardly, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on the nautical chart he'd made for himself, counting downwards the days left until his return to Hogwarts. And so he took off his spectacles and lay down; eyes open, facing his 3 birthday cards.

Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else -- glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.

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