Number Four, Privet Drive.
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"That's how heredity works. It's the same with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, the pups won't be much better..."
At the dinner table, a middle-aged woman who looked very much like Vernon was holding forth.
She had the same large, purplish face, and even a little tuft of whiskers on her chin. Wet with wine, it quivered as she spoke.
Marge Dursley—Vernon's sister and Dudley's aunt—gripped a wineglass in one hand and jabbed at the tabletop with the other, as though delivering a speech that brooked no argument.
"Ahem, Marge, you've had a lovely time drinking tonight. Let me help you off to bed. We can hear more of your valuable dog-training advice another day..."
At a meaningful glance from her husband, Petunia hurried to her feet to help Marge up. She glanced at Harry, sitting silently with his head lowered at the other end of the table, then dared not look again.
But Petunia failed.
She was thin to begin with, and faced with the ball-shaped Marge, she hardly knew where to start. The moment she took Marge's arm, its weight dragged her off balance.
Vernon had no choice but to get up and help. He was regretting this now. He had specifically told Marge in private not to bring up Harry or his parents again, but after a few drinks, she had started shooting her mouth off anyway.
Vernon had no desire to offend his company's young new shareholder over Harry. He had no idea how Harry had been lucky enough to meet someone like Grafton, much less why someone like that would attend a school for so-called wizards. But Vernon knew he had to do justice to his increased salary and the new