Late July

Far beyond the Atlantic Ocean, a boy Harry Potter suddenly woke up from a dream.

Harry lay stiffly on the bed, panting heavily. The lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead burned with pain, as if flames from a dream were scorching the wound. He had to press his hand against the wound to relieve the burning pain that pierced his skull.

After a few minutes, the burning sensation of the scar lessened, and Harry slowly recovered and breathed a sigh of relief. He reached out a hand to the bedside table, put on his glasses, and the scenery in the bedroom gradually became clearer. The light from the streetlights outside shone through the curtains, casting a hazy, orange-red glow over the bedroom.

Harry turned on the bedside lamp, got out of bed, and went to the wardrobe mirror. He carefully examined the fourteen-year-old boy in the mirror. Beneath the messy black hair, the scar on his forehead looked normal, but the piercing pain reminded him of the extraordinary dream he had just had.

This wasn't the first time Harry had dreamt of Voldemort, and he had learned from Dumbledore that this unique scar created a special connection between him and Voldemort, and that his dreams reflected real-life events.

What is Voldemort plotting now?

Harry frowned, focusing intently, desperately trying to recall the scenes from his dream. Everything was so vivid, so deeply etched in his memory...

The boy's figure in the mirror gradually blurred, and a dimly lit room began to emerge... a room in a magic school on High Mountain, with a wisp of irregularly shaped blackish-gray smoke floating in the room, and a woman with a fierce expression standing beside it.

Harry had seen her in the newspaper before; she Bellatrix Lestrange.

They were cursing Dumbledore, cursing the American Magical Congress ... Finally, they discussed the real resurrection, and the key to the resurrection lay with one person... that was— Harry Potter!

What Dumbledore to anger them?

What do they want to do to themselves?

What are they planning?

Harry closed his eyes tightly, trying desperately to dredge up more of their conversation from his mind, but all that remained was a blank. Dreams are like water; the more he tried to scoop them up with his hands, the more he tried to grasp the details, the faster they slipped through his fingers.

Once the pain from the scar on his forehead had completely subsided and the images of the dream had become completely blurry, Harry could no longer dig out any details, and his sleepiness had completely dissipated. He lifted his face from his hands and stared blankly into the mirror, at the fourteen-year-old boy, at the reflections of the various objects in the room.

An empty birdcage sat on the brand-new desk. Hedwig usually perched in it, but most of the time, she fluttered her wings freely outside, only returning on rainy days or when she was tired of playing. Harry thought to himself that he would do the same; the Dursley house had an unsettling smell about them.

An open book lay scattered on the floor beside the bed. The pages were filled with illustrations of past Cannons matches. The book was titled "Flying with the Cannons." Some people said that the illustrations in the book had been edited and beautified, but Harry didn't think so, because many pages also contained detailed depictions of the players from both sides fighting each other.

Harry picked up the book and placed it on the desk. He then walked to the window, drew back the curtains, and looked down at the street.

The streetlights were dim, the road was deserted, and there wasn't a single living creature in sight, not even a kitten.

Could Voldemort be lurking on Privet Drive?

A ridiculous thought popped into Harry's head, and he laughed at it. He sat down at his desk and looked at the calendar. It was late July, and his birthday was approaching.

What gifts will his three best friends give him? And how long until the Quidditch World Cup that he mentioned before the holiday?

With this expectation, Harry's heavy heart slowly relaxed. He took out the parchment paper and began to write letters to Dumbledore and his friends.

"..."

A frightening snoring sound came from my cousin Dudley's room next door.

As the deep blue sky slowly turned grayish-white, a cool dawn breeze blew in through the window, drying the ink on the letter paper.

The sun rose, casting a golden glow on the bedroom walls, and there was movement in Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's room. Harry gathered the ink bottle and quill on the table and reread the four letters in front of him.

He recounted the dream to everyone, hoping Dumbledore could tell him how to provoke Voldemort, hoping Ron, whose father and brother worked at the Ministry of Magic, could reveal some inside information, and hoping the mysterious Loren and the clever Hermione could tell him something.

If it weren't for the fact that Loren and Hermione's phones weren't unreachable, their communication might have been much quicker and easier.

As Harry pondered this, a question suddenly arose in his mind, "Is it enough for Loren and Hermione to write only one letter?"

The Dursley house ' breakfast consisted of unsweetened grapefruit and milk, which not only Uncle Vernon found difficult to eat, but even Harry struggled to finish it.

This miserable life began after their cousin Dudley came home for summer vacation with his final report card and teacher's comments. Ignoring the terrible grades and the comments about Dudley bullying his classmates, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia noticed the last sentence: there were no pants in the school uniform that Dudley could fit into anymore.

Aunt Petunia said that Dudley was just overweight and that his weight was only temporary obesity during puberty. He was still in the growth and development stage, so he needed plenty of food and nutrition.

Nevertheless, the diet plan sent by the Smeltings School nurse was posted on the refrigerator. All of Dudley's favorite foods, such as soda, cake, chocolate, and hamburger steak, were absent. Instead, there were only fruits, vegetables, and some things that Uncle Vernon called "junk food."

To Dudley up, Aunt Petunia insisted that the whole family follow the diet. After a few days, everyone's faces turned green, especially Dudley and Vernon, who were both quite heavy. Harry noticed that they were speaking much more quietly.

Fortunately, they were unaware that Harry's scale ornaments held a secret: they contained treats brought from Honeydukes and Hogwarts Kitchen. Although there weren't many left, they should be enough to last through the summer.

Harry looked forward to going upstairs for a real breakfast, quietly eating his unsweetened grapefruit.

In fact, he could occasionally smell the aroma of food coming from his cousin Dudley's bedroom at night—fried doughnuts, cold bread, and even tasteless ladyfingers... In short, his aunt and uncle's weight loss plan was probably going to fail.

Uncle Vernon put down his newspaper and saw the small grapefruit on the plate. He looked at Aunt Petunia with resentment, but was glared at back by a stern look. He glanced at Dudley, who had finished his breakfast in a few bites. The chair at the table could barely support Dudley, and his tire-like flesh slumped on the chair. Then he looked at Harry, who was eating silently.

Uncle Vernon sighed heavily, which made his unkempt beard tremble, and then picked up his spoon.

A person can deceive others, but they cannot deceive themselves.

In order for Dudley to have pants to wear when he goes back to Meston next semester, he'll just have to put up with it for now.

After finishing his grapefruit, Harry slowly stood up and said, "I'm done eating. I'm going back to my room."

Since last summer, Harry has no longer had to do the work in the Kitchen. He spends most of his time in his room. The Dursley are terrified of his magic textbooks, cauldrons, and even birdcages, fearing that they might be tainted with evil curses that could blow them away like Aunt Marge, so they generally don't bother him.

Nobody paid any attention to Harry, Dudley was clamoring for cake and chocolate, and Vernon and Petunia were having a hard time dealing with him.

Vernon ate breakfast so late that he was almost late for work, so he had to rush to the Grunnings. Petunia needed to buy some groceries in the morning, so they got in the car and went to the market together.

"Sweetie, stay home and play games and watch TV. How about I bring you some delicious fruit for lunch?"

Dudley glared at her angrily. "I don't want fruit, I want cake, chocolate..."

Hedwig flapped her wings and flew in through the window.

The sounds downstairs gradually subsided, Dudley ran back to his room, the aroma of fermenting cold bread gradually filling the air.

Harry popped the Chocolate Frog, now only having its hind legs left, into his mouth and sighed contentedly. Dudley could only eat bland, cold bread, while he had plenty of snacks; the thought made Harry feel good.

Happiness is indeed something that comes from comparison.

Knowing that Loren and Hermione might be traveling to other countries and that Dumbledore busy, Harry instructed Hedwig to send letters in the order of Ron, Dumbledore, Loren, and Hermione. Considering that gathering information might take some time, he specifically told her not to wait for a reply.

The Granger house in Hampstead Garden, on the outskirts of the city.

Hermione sat back on the sofa, her long legs crossed and propped up on the cushions, with a copy of "A History of North American Magic" on her lap. The book was open from the middle, revealing a copy of the New York Spectator from two days prior.

Hearing the sound of a can of Griphook being opened next to her, Hermione remained expressionless.

Since returning from New York, her mother has once again restricted her usual snacks and drinks, replacing all snacks with sugar-free ones and drinks with sugar-free soda water, which is completely flat.

This person has absolutely no self-awareness. He comes to her every day with snacks, drinks soda and eats snacks right in front of her. He has a terrible personality and is extremely despicable.

"Drinking Coke in the summer... ah!" Loren burped roughly and smacked his lips. "The Quidditch World Cup is about to start, Professor Granger, what are your thoughts on the ticket situation?"

"No," Hermione replied coldly.

Loren completely ignored her indifference and continued, "Ron said last semester that his dad could get tickets from the Ministry of Magic, so Neville's parents probably have tickets too... But I think we should buy our own tickets. If we pay a higher price, we can probably get them in Diagon Alley... What do you think?"

"Um."

"Let's go check out Diagon Alley this weekend."

"Um."

"Hmm... How can you be Professor Granger if you can't even speak properly?"

The sound of an owl flapping its wings came from the doorway. Loren glanced at Hermione's indifferent expression, pursed his lips, put down his cola, and went to the doorway to check the situation.

Outside the door stood a snowy owl with pure white feathers, carrying two letters in its beak. Beside it fluttered Spectacled Owl. It seemed that Hānhan and Hedwig hadn't seen their colleagues in a long time, and they were both very excited, making urging cooing sounds.

Seeing Loren come out, Hedwig quickly handed him the letter, and without asking for any snacks, she flew away with the Hānhan boy.

"It's Harry's letter, one for you and one for me..."

Loren returned to the house, placed Hermione's letter on her head, ruffled her hair, and then sat down beside her to read it.

Hermione glanced at him coldly, pursed her lips, and silently opened her letter.

Dear Loren:

I hope you have a wonderful holiday trip. I tried calling you, and when no one answered, I knew you weren't home.

Summer vacation at the Dursley house was much more interesting than usual. Dudley was forced to lose weight, but the plan wasn't going very well. He never liked exercising and always stayed in front of the video game console and TV, and he also hoarded high-calorie foods... He'll probably have to wear a skirt when he goes back to school next semester, and the thought of that makes me happy.

Thank you for your Storage Scale; the Fizzing Whizzbees inside always brings me a feeling of happiness.

Something strange happened this morning; my scar started hurting again, which, as you might guess, means I had another dream about Voldemort. I dreamt that he detached from his Wormtail body, reverted to being black mist, and, together with Bellatrix Lestrange, cursed Dumbledore, plotting the true resurrection, and about me—I can't quite put my finger on it.

Do you have any news about Voldemort and Dumbledore? I eagerly await your reply.

Harry

"I know that, but replying to letters seems like such a hassle..." Loren scratched his head, took a sip of his cola, and muttered suspiciously, "Why does this cola feel so much lighter..."

"Cough cough!"

Hermione cleared her throat and casually suggested, "We can just call him, then we won't have to write a letter."

"How clever you are, Miss Know-It-All!"

Loren got up to make a phone call on the table, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione looking at him nervously.

"..."

Loren hesitated for a few seconds, then casually picked up the Coke on the table and sauntered off to make a phone call.

Watching his retreating figure, Hermione pursed her lips, a faint light flickering in her eyes.

On the Dursley house ' table, there was still bland, tasteless grapefruit, accompanied by bananas, guavas, and papayas, making everyone's faces turn almost fruit-skin-colored.

Uncle Vernon ate while sighing, feeling that Dudley hadn't lost weight yet, but he was almost there.

Aunt Petunia doesn't look much different; she's always been thin, and her long, prominent teeth are perfect for eating fruit.

Cousin Dudley irritably poked at the bananas on his plate with his fork, thinking that mixing the cold bread and doughnuts with the fruit would taste better that way.

Ring ring—

Ring ring—

The phone rang suddenly.