Summer Vacation

In London, at the Kirill residence, sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains and fell across the floor of Silas Cyril's bedroom. Silas Cyril lay sprawled across his soft, large bed, dead asleep, his breathing even and deep, with even a faintly satisfied smile at the corner of his mouth. The dark red Levitating Cloak covered him like a living blanket, thoughtfully tucking one corner of its collar around him.

His mother, Mrs. Pella Kirill, gently pushed open the door and peeked inside. Seeing her son sleeping so deeply he seemed completely unconscious, concern appeared on her face. She walked to the bedside, bent down, and lightly shook Silas's shoulder, her voice gentle and worried:

"Silas? Darling? You've been asleep for a full seventeen hours... You've been sleeping ever since you came back yesterday. Are you all right? Hey? Wake up and eat something before you go back to sleep?"

Silas showed no response. He merely smacked his lips, rolled over, buried his face deeper into the pillow, and continued his pleasant dream.

Mrs. Pella Kirill's brow furrowed tighter. Just as she was about to call him again, suddenly—

One corner of the Levitating Cloak covering Silas silently and elegantly lifted itself, gently tapping the back of Mrs. Pella Kirill's hand as if telling her not to worry.

At the same time, a mild, calm thought with a faintly inhuman quality was transmitted directly into Mrs. Pella Kirill's mind:

[He is fine, madam. He has merely overexerted his magic and requires deep sleep to recover. Please do not worry. Let him wake naturally.]

Mrs. Pella Kirill jumped, staring in surprise at the "talking" cloak. She had known for a long time that this cloak was unusual and possessed its own consciousness, but this was the first time she had received its "words" directly. She steadied herself, looked at the cloak's reassuring gesture, then at her son's face, which indeed showed only deep sleep rather than pain. The weight in her heart eased slightly.

She sighed and smiled helplessly. Reaching out, she gently stroked the cloak's fabric—warm and strangely textured—and said softly, "All right, then I'll leave him in your care. There's warm soup in the kitchen. Remember to remind him to drink it when he wakes up."

The corner of the Levitating Cloak nodded up and down again to show that it understood.

Mrs. Pella Kirill looked at her son once more before quietly leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

The bedroom returned to silence. One corner of the Levitating Cloak softly brushed across Silas's forehead, then settled quietly back into place.

In his sleep, Silas unconsciously nuzzled the pillow, the smile on his lips deepening. A year of "wonderful" life at Hogwarts had exhausted both his mind and magic. At that moment, nothing was more important than a long, peaceful mana-restoring sleep in the comfort and safety of his own home. And the loyal Levitating Cloak would ensure that its master received no interruptions.

Silas Cyril's first year at Hogwarts officially came to an end amid this seventeen-hour—possibly even longer—slumber. New adventures and troubles would surely arrive right on schedule next term.

On July 31, Silas sat at the dining table, wolfing down the lavish breakfast his mother Pella had prepared. Finally, no more turkey!

While reading the newspaper, his father, Mr. Anthony Kirill, said to Silas, "Silas, I have a business engagement tonight. Come with me."

Without even looking up, Silas refused vaguely, "Not going... Business engagements are so boring. I want to catch up on sleep at home."

Anthony put down the newspaper and explained, "It isn't an ordinary engagement. It's with my partner, Mr. Mason. He's recently been negotiating a large order for a drilling rig project. The other party is a Mr. Dursley from Little Whinging, Surrey. Mr. Mason isn't quite sure what sort of person Mr. Dursley is, so he asked me to meet him and assess his credibility while I'm at it."

"Surrey? Little Whinging? Dursley?" Silas abruptly stopped chewing. He looked up, his eyes instantly lighting up as an expression blending surprise and finally got you appeared on his face.

"Dursley?! The Dursleys at Number 4 Privet Drive?!" Silas's voice jumped an octave.

Anthony was startled by his son's reaction. "Uh... I think that was the address... How do you know?"

Silas slapped his fork onto the table, all traces of his earlier laziness gone. In its place was an impatient excitement and a hint of... displeasure?

"Go? Of course I'm going!" Silas said firmly, even gritting his teeth a little. "I was just about to go 'visit' that family!"

Anthony and Pella exchanged looks, unable to understand why their son had suddenly become so interested in an ordinary business meeting, especially when he sounded distinctly unfriendly.

Silas stood up and began pacing through the living room, muttering to himself. "Harry Potter! That brat! It's been a month since vacation started! I sent him seven letters! And he didn't reply to a single one! I thought he'd been snatched by a Dementor or trapped at home by Voldemort again!"

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. "No! I have to ask him face-to-face! What the hell happened? Did the owl get lost? Or did that fat pig cousin of his intercept the letters again? Or... he just couldn't be bothered to reply to me... Uh... definitely not... Let me think about the original plot..."

Silas turned to his father with a "kind" smile on his face. "Dad, I'll come with you tonight! I absolutely have to meet Mr. Dursley... and his family's 'guest'!"

Seeing his son ready to march in and demand answers, Anthony felt a little uneasy. Tonight's "business meeting" might become... very unusual. Still, he nodded. "All right. Get ready. We'll drive over tonight."

Silas rubbed his hands together, already unable to wait for nightfall so he could "visit" his "good friend," Harry Potter, at Number 4 Privet Drive. A month of being out of contact demanded an explanation!

At dusk, an understated yet expensive black sedan pulled up in front of the meticulously trimmed house at Number 4 Privet Drive. Mr. Anthony Kirill stepped out of the driver's seat in a well-tailored dark gray suit, looking steady and capable. Silas, dressed in ordinary casual clothes, followed behind him reluctantly.

Before leaving, Silas had wanted to wear his signature Levitating Cloak, but Anthony had sternly stopped him.

"Why can't I wear my cloak?" Silas grumbled unhappily.

Anthony sighed and explained in a tone that said you need to face reality, "Silas, listen. We're visiting an ordinary Muggle family. In Muggles' eyes—though I'm also just a Muggle who knows the wizarding world exists—if you wear such an exaggerated cloak, one that looks like it came straight out of a stage play, they'll think you escaped from a mental hospital! We need to stay low-key and... respectable."

Silas curled his lip. Though unwilling, he knew his father had a point, so he had no choice but to leave the cloak at home.

They walked to the door and rang the bell. It opened almost immediately, as though The Dursleys had been waiting behind it all along.

The one who opened the door was a boy so fat he nearly filled the entire doorway—Dudley Dursley. His face wore a deliberately ingratiating yet extremely stiff smile.

"Oh, good evening, gentlemen! Welcome, welcome!" Dudley said with exaggerated enthusiasm, holding out his chubby hand. "Let me take your coats!"

Silas felt a wave of disgust at Dudley's behavior. Expressionless, he sidestepped Dudley's hand and said coldly, "No need."

Dudley's smile froze for a moment, and he awkwardly pulled back his hand.

At that moment, Vernon Dursley's huge body also appeared in the doorway. His face was likewise covered in smiles, but they were filled with vulgarity and hypocrisy. He warmly extended a hand to Anthony. "Mr. Kirill! Welcome, welcome! Please come in! This is my wife, Petunia."

Petunia Dursley stood behind Vernon, squeezing a rigid smile onto her thin face. In a shrill voice, she said, "Welcome! Please, have a seat! I'll get you something to drink!"

Anthony maintained a professional smile as he shook Vernon's hand, exchanging polite phrases like "Sorry to trouble you" and "Thank you." But Silas sharply noticed that his father's back teeth were clenched tight, and even the vein at his temple twitched slightly.

God! This family! Those smiles are so fake they're giving me goosebumps! And this house is too... too "tidy." It's so tidy it's suffocating! It feels like I've walked into a wax museum!

Seeing his father endure the discomfort while trying to maintain "respectability," Silas found it a little funny and a little pitiful. Hang in there, Dad! You're a social elite! A business tycoon! Bring out that negotiating-table charisma you use to talk people into things! Respectability! Respectability is what matters most!

Under The Dursleys' excessively enthusiastic escort, the father and son entered the meticulously decorated yet utterly lifeless living room. The air was filled with an uncomfortable atmosphere of a deliberately manufactured "perfect family."