When Vernon turned into the driveway of number four and saw his house and its lovely lawn, his mood visibly improved even further.
Petunia was preparing a lavish dinner. Thanks to Dudley's forceful demands, accompanied by flourishes of his cane, the Dursley family had been obliged to start having Christmas feasts several days early.
He could eat an entire turkey all by himself!
Mrs. Dursley had enjoyed a good day. Everything had been perfectly normal. Over dinner, she told her husband about the quarrel between a mother and daughter next door, along with the other gossip she had picked up.
Dudley had no interest whatsoever in this. He was busy scooping Christmas biscuits and Christmas pudding from the serving platter onto his own plate, piling them high.
"That's my boy! That's how you ought to eat." Vernon chuckled, picked up a glass of whisky, and passed his own pudding to Dudley. Then he addressed Petunia, who was eagerly recounting gossip from the next street:
"Darling, guess what I saw on the way home?"
Petunia reluctantly broke off her account of the love-hate relationship between a fat widow two streets away and the milkman. She pursed her lips as she cut into her pudding.
"Yes?"
"A Christmas tree a full thirty feet tall! Who would use a Christmas tree that big?" Vernon roared with laughter. Apparently, something about this had tickled his peculiar sense of humor. He raised another glass of whisky and drained it, then suddenly asked:
"Er-Petunia, darling-is that boy supposed to be spending Christmas with that Mr. Black this year?"
In the Dursley household, Harry's name was taboo. If they absolutely had to mention him, the Dursleys substituted "the boy."
With a clink, Petunia's knife struck her pretty bone china plate.
She pursed her lips and gave her