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e subjects. This

morning, it was motorcycles.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said,

as a motorcycle overtook them.

I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering

suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned

right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a

gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing

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