The night wind swept in. Harry stood at the edge of the streetlamp's dim yellow glow, watching Dudley and his no-good friends surround the poor boy.
Harry's voice was quiet, but it drew their attention.
Dudley stopped and turned, a flash of panic crossing his face—he was a little afraid of Harry.
His cronies stopped too. Piers Polkiss released the boy's arm and sized Harry up with his small, ratlike eyes, a taunting smile on his lips.
"Isn't this the freak?" Piers asked, his voice shrill, as though he were deliberately pinching his throat to imitate an adult. "Big D, is that cousin of yours mental?"
The cronies beside him gave dry laughs.
"Get lost, Potter." Dudley's expression shifted, and he lowered his voice. "This is none of your business."
"I'll decide whether it's my business," Harry said.
Dudley's face flushed red. He raised a fist at Harry, but he couldn't bring himself to swing—he didn't dare hit his cousin. He knew that if Harry waved that little wooden stick and muttered a few strange spells, he might end up turned into a pig.
He had already experienced growing a pig's tail. Last year, sweets from his cousin's friends had even burned right through his tongue.
His cronies crowded around Harry, and the poor boy took the opportunity to escape. Harry felt a little relieved.
"Teach him a lesson, Big D!"
"Show him who's boss!"
His cronies egged him on, but their jeering soon stopped as a chill that seemed to seep out from deep within their bones swept over them.
"What the hell's wrong with the weather..." someone muttered, drawing his head into his shoulders.
Before long, they abandoned Dudley. "Big D, it might rain. We've got to go."
Dudley looked around, then turned back to Harry. "What the