I know that the water froze in my pitcher the first night, and that afterward I performed my ablutions in the kitchen, and dipped hot water out of a tank with a blue dipper.
That first week I spent adjusting myself to the simple life, and trying to form an unprejudiced opinion of my companions in exile.

As for the said companions, they sort of stood back and sized up my points, good and bad--and I've a notion they laid heavy odds against me, and had me down in the Also Ran bunch.

I overheard one of them remark, when I was coming up from the stables: "Here's the son and heir--come, let's kill him!" Another one drawled: "What's the use?
The bounty's run out." I was convinced that they regarded me as a frost.
The same with Perry Potter, a grizzled little man with long, ragged beard and gray eyes that looked through you and away beyond.

I had a feeling that dad had told him to keep an eye on me and report any incipient growth of horse-sense.

I may have wronged him and dad, but that is how I felt, and I didn't like him any better for it.