Harry's Summer Holiday

The third Friday of July, morning.

Outside the window, it was still deep blue, with only a faint pale white tinge on the distant horizon.

The air was stifling, Privet Drive was shrouded in a drowsy silence.

Harry awoke in bed, still a little dizzy, and images flashed through his mind: a long, dark corridor, each leading to a dead end or a locked door...

"I had another nightmare..."

Harry raised his hand and touched his forehead. The slight dampness was from sweat, and the rough texture next to it was from scabs. The scars had been stinging occasionally lately, which was very uncomfortable. This meant that Voldemort's power was becoming stronger again, which was not surprising.

But it doesn't hurt today.

Harry lowered his hand and slowly let out a long sigh, "It seems it wasn't Voldemort's influence..."

He guessed that these dreams were probably related to the trapped, animal-like emotions he experienced when he was awake.

A flapping sound came from outside the window, and the newspaper owl postman landed on the windowsill. Harry quickly stood up, took out a few Bronze Knut and handed them over, while also taking this morning's Daily Prophet.

Harry glanced quickly at the headline on the front page, sighed softly, and looked up at the sky that was gradually brightening. The question that had been hanging in his mind was becoming more and more urgent: Why hadn't anything happened yet?

An unease, a mixture of anxiety and worry, once again overwhelmed him, slowly and persistently tormenting him.

For a long time, it was like this: every morning at five o'clock, he would wake up before the alarm clock rang, pay for the newspaper delivered by the owl, but unfortunately, continuing to subscribe to the newspaper did nothing.

These days, he only glances at the front page before tossing the newspaper aside. Those idiots who run the newspapers—once they know Voldemort is back, they'll definitely make it the front page headline; that's the only thing Harry cares about.

On two mornings a week, an owl would deliver two letters he eagerly awaited, one from Ron and the Sirius Black. Harry had always hoped that the letters from the Wizarding World would bring him some useful information, but that expectation had long since faded.

That was a letter from the first Friday after the holiday:

"Dear Harry: We can't say too much about that. My mother told us not to talk about anything important, lest our letters be sent to the wrong place. We're very busy right now, but I can't go into details here. A lot has happened, and we'll tell you when we meet you."

Sirius Black's letter didn't reveal any information, but thankfully it contained some words of advice and comfort, rather than being ambiguous and teasing. "I know this must be very frustrating for you, but as long as you behave yourself, everything will be alright. Be careful not to do anything rash..."

Harry hung his head dejectedly and saw that the cars that were usually gleaming were now all dusty and parked in the driveway. Only Uncle Vernon's car was slightly cleaner. The once lush and green lawn had turned yellow and withered. Due to the severe drought, the watering hoses had been taken out of service.

July days passed by, and the summer in Surrey grew hotter and hotter.

The residents of Privet Drive used to spend their time washing cars and mowing lawns, but now that they can't do either of those things, they can only hide in their cold, damp houses, leaving the windows wide open, hoping for a non-existent breeze to blow in.

If there was anything to look forward to on such days, it was that he had a fifteen-minute break after dinner each day to call and chat with his two other good friends, although Loren and Hermione could only wait for news in front of the newspaper.

Before this, he could only hide in his room and pass the time by practicing magic.

It was nearing evening in the Dursley house ' living room.

Harry watched television with the the Dursleys; the two adults sat together, while he sat alone on a single sofa a little further away.

the Dursleys would glance at each other every now and then, then cautiously look at Harry.

Seemingly because he had grown too quickly in a short period of time, the black-haired boy with glasses looked somewhat thin, with gaunt cheeks and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, giving him a slightly sickly appearance. He wore a gray-white T-shirt with loose jeans and newly bought sneakers...

He looks no different from an ordinary high school student—except that he uses magic to conjure up enough clean water for Vernon to wash his car every day, as well as ice to keep the room cool...

Harry pretended not to notice their scrutinizing gazes. All three of them felt extremely awkward, but they remained silent in tacit agreement, listening to the worthless fruit and bran breakfast commercial jingle on TV.

Harry was waiting for the seven o'clock news, hoping to glean some clues about Voldemort and the Death Eater from the Muggle news, such as some major disaster, unexplained disappearances, or some strange accident...

The heat and awkwardness tormented the three people; the air seemed to sizzle with oil. Just then, an old woman slowly walked past the window, her aged voice drifting into the room:

"Good afternoon, Harry of the Dursley house... Come over for tea sometime..."

Harry knew her, of course; Mrs. Figg, who lived next door on Wisteria Walk, had many cats and a rather eccentric temperament. She seemed much warmer towards Harry this holiday, probably because Aunt Petunia had explained to the neighbors that he wasn't a hopeless scoundrel and hadn't been sent to the St. Brutus Incurable Juvenile Correctional Centre.

"I will, thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Figg," Harry replied in a loud voice.

The old man turned a corner, his figure gradually disappearing, leaving only the swaying, withered hydrangea bushes, breaking the stiff, stagnant atmosphere. Vernon shifted his position, his fat jiggling precariously.

"Drinking tea? Dudley went out for tea too, right?"

"He went to Pochis's house," Aunt Petunia said with a smile. "He's made a lot of new friends, and everyone likes him so much that he doesn't have to stay home playing video games all day anymore."

Harry remained silent as the music for the 7 o'clock news broadcast began, making him tense and his internal organs clench slightly.

Top news: Spain baggage handlers' strike enters its second week, leaving large numbers of vacationers stranded at airports...

"If it were me, I'd make them enjoy afternoon naps for the rest of their lives!"

Harry ignored his Uncle Vernon's harsh voice. A weight was lifted from his heart. After all, if something really happened, the headlines would be about death and disaster, not vacationers stranded at the airport.

The news that followed was more mundane, such as the drought in the southeast, a helicopter crash in a field in Surrey, and a famous actress divorcing her famous husband... Finally, Bungee found a new way to stay cool this summer—by learning to waterski...

Suddenly, a loud, echoing pop shattered the drowsy silence!

Harry jumped to his feet and pulled his wand from his jeans pocket as if drawing a sword. He was certain that the loud bang had been made by someone teleporting.

Who is it?

Friend or foe?

Just as Harry was looking around the street, trying to figure out where the sound had come from, two large, purplish-red hands reached out from behind him, grabbed his collar tightly, and threw him backward.

"Put it away, kid! Hurry up! Don't let anyone see it!"

Uncle Vernon whispered something in his ear, then leaned out the window and shouted, "What a lovely night! Did you hear the car backfire? It gave Petunia and me a real fright!"

Harry then noticed several faces peering out of the various windows of the neighboring houses, especially the lady across the street who was staring at them with wide eyes. Perhaps seeing Vernon's ugly, madman-like grin, the curious neighbors slowly disappeared from their windows.

Uncle Vernon turned and glared at Harry, his voice trembling with anger as he asked, "What the hell are you doing, kid?"

What did I do?

"They made that noise, like a gun firing, right outside our window."

"I didn't make that sound."

"Don't try to outsmart me, kid. I know what you're up to. You want to do something outrageous because Dudley has outdone you..."

ha?

Uncle Vernon actually thought that the sound was made by him to show off.

Harry struggled to keep himself from snorting.

"We're not fools, you know that," Aunt Petunia said nervously, then suddenly lowered her voice. "You've used up enough magic this holiday. You have to follow the rules, or else..."

"It really wasn't me!" Harry tried to explain, but he couldn't make it clear at all.

"Never mind the sound, kid!" Uncle Vernon clenched his fist. "If this happens again, I'll lock you up in the shed!"

"Alright..." Aunt Petunia patted her husband on the shoulder, her long, thin face expressionless. "Harry, go and call Dada back. We need to prepare dinner."

Harry took a deep breath and muttered sullenly, "Okay."

He dragged his heavy steps out of the gate, barely paying attention to the path beneath his feet, and subconsciously headed towards the Playground.

The Dursley were shrewd in some ways, but incredibly foolish when it came to their beloved son Dudley, Dudley made up silly lies every summer night about going to one of his cronies' houses for tea, and they actually believed him.

He had occasionally witnessed these behaviors while taking walks in the Little Whinging. In fact, Dudley did not go to any teahouse at all. He and his buddies would vandalize public property at the Playground every night, smoke on street corners, and throw stones at passing cars and children.

After passing through Magnolia Crescent, I turned onto Magnolia Road and headed towards the gradually darkening Playground.

In a moment of inspiration, Harry had an impulse—to simply tie the box to his flying broom and fly directly to the Burrow.

The impulse was so tempting that he would not have been able to resist if it weren't for Hermione's advice on the train.

The Playground gates were locked, so Harry leaped over them and walked forward across the dry grass. The Playground was as empty as the surrounding streets. He came to the swings, found one that Dudley and his friends hadn't had time to destroy, and sat down, one arm around the chain, his gaze fixed on the ground with melancholy.

Dudley will go home on his own when it's time; that guy never misses a single dinner. He just needs to wait here.

Night gradually fell, and a sultry yet gentle night arrived. The air was filled with the warm scent of hay, and the only sound could be the low rumble of vehicles coming from the road outside the Playground fence...

He didn't know how long he had been sitting on the swing when the sound of other people talking interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up and saw the streetlights casting a hazy glow. A group of figures were chatting and laughing as they walked through the Playground, and the one at the front was Dudley.

He was still as tall and strong as ever, but after a year of strict diet control and the development of his new boxing skills, his physique was no longer obese but had become more lean and muscular. However, Harry felt that Dudley's increasingly powerful and accurate punches were nothing to celebrate.

Harry suppressed a yawn and watched them leave the Playground, then slowly followed behind them.

"... He squealed like a pig, didn't he?"

"Nice right hook, Da Ge."

The boisterous laughter continued all the way to the lilac tree at the street corner before the group of people who had been laughing loudly dispersed.

See you then.

See you tomorrow, Ta!

Goodbye, Brother Da!

Once the sounds had faded away, Harry emerged from under the tree and slowly caught up with his cousin, who was humming a tune. They chatted idly for a while.

"Hey, Brother Da!"

"It's you."

"When did you become Brother Da?"

"What's it to you?"

"Who did you beat up tonight?"

Who knows?

They turned into a narrow alley, which was much darker than the two streets it connected to, as there were no streetlights. One side of the alley was the wall of a garage, and the other side was a tall fence, so their footsteps sounded muffled.

"Wow, that's impressive, Darth Vader." Harry paused for a moment after saying that, and for a moment he felt like Malfoy in his first year. This realization made him shut his mouth.

"Your thing is more impressive..." Dudley suddenly shivered strangely, gasped for breath, as if he had been doused with icy water.

The mild and pleasant night suddenly turned cold and biting.

The next moment, the bright stars and moon, and the dim streetlights of the alley, were swallowed by darkness. The rumble of cars passing by in the distance and the rustling of leaves nearby gradually faded away, and the entire alley Silencio only the heavy breathing of two people audible.

"What the hell are you doing!" Dudley's terrified voice rang out from the side.

"Quiet down, it's not me."

The cold, damp touch sent shivers down Harry's spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Harry caught a whiff of a damp, putrid stench, and a familiar, intense unease washed over him, leaving him frozen in place.

The Dementor have arrived.