Summer in Great Britain is humid and oppressive; the sky over Surrey is like a piece of gray-blue velvet that has been covered up for too long.
The sun is generous during the day, but it's also extremely scorching, making you feel sticky on your skin, and even the grass on the lawn droops.
But for Harry, trapped indoors, this kind of weather was pure torture.
Harry sat on the windowsill of his bedroom, with a copy of " The History of Magic " he had brought back from Hogwarts spread out at his feet; it looked like it had been read many times.
He tried to look out at the street, but his gaze was mostly blocked by the nailed wooden planks as he looked through the glass, leaving only a sliver of light and shadow through a gap about two fingers wide.
He could hear pedestrians talking and cars driving by on the street, but he couldn't see anything.
Harry lay helplessly on his back in his newly moved-in room—no longer the cupboard under the stairs, but one of the nicer bedrooms in the house.
The thick wooden planks nailed to the ground fragmented the light, letting in only a few thin, long golden stripes, like prison bars.
He sighed, turned over, and buried his face in the pillow.
This was completely different from what he had imagined.
He had originally thought that after returning from Hogwarts, he could at least ride a broomstick around the garden a few times, or take a walk in the nearby park.
He also thought that maybe he could sneak off to the Leaky Cauldron for a Butterbeer, or go to Diagon Alley to browse the new Quidditch merchandise.
He even naively planned to take a look at that bookstore in central London that supposedly had an entire wall of " Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone " on display.
But these thoughts were nipped in the bud before he even got home.
He had taken Polyjuice Potion on the afternoon he returned.
That was specially prepared for him by Professor McGonagall; it was made from the hair of another Muggle boy, and its effects lasted for a whole day.
Professor McGonagall specifically warned him against using magic, flying brooms, or anything related to the Wizarding World in the Muggle world.
Harry could only nod in agreement.
When he was picked up by the the Dursley family at King's Cross Station, he looked like a chubby little boy with dark skin and a round face like fermented dough.
At that time, a few onlookers holding copies of " Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone " were scattered around the entrance of Number Four, Privet Drive. They had been waiting all afternoon with their cameras, hoping to take a picture of the boy with round-framed glasses.
Then they saw the Dursley family ' car parked in front of the house, and a chubby little boy, who had nothing to do with the image of him in their books, got out of the car and dragged a suitcase into the house.
The expressions on those people's faces changed from anticipation to confusion, and finally to disappointment, as they regretfully put down their cameras.
They all muttered across the street, "It's all made up, just like in the book," and before it got dark, the onlookers gradually dispersed.
When Harry walked in, the the Dursley family' expressions were even more complicated than his own that day.
Vernon stood in the living room doorway, one hand clutching his tie, the other behind his back, as if unsure where to put it.
Petunia stood in the kitchen doorway wiping a plate that was already sparkling clean. Her gaze flickered briefly when it fell on Harry's face before quickly looking away.
Dudley, meanwhile, was curled up on the sofa, his fat body huddled together. He stared at Harry, a hint of fear flashing in his small eyes.
The Dursley family apparently bought the complete edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
Harry didn't know when they bought it; maybe a neighbor got it for them, or maybe they finally couldn't resist their curiosity and went to the bookstore to queue up.
But the result was the same: they had clearly read everything written in the book.
The scene depicts Harry dealing with the Troll, Harry brushing past the three-headed dog, Harry seeing his family in front of the Mirror of Erised, and finally, his duel with Quirrell, who is possessed by Voldemort.
"We had no choice," Uncle Vernon explained somewhat awkwardly the night Harry arrived home. "You have to understand, Potter, those people outside are just too crazy."
From then on, whenever Dudley saw Harry, he would unconsciously shrink back towards the armrest of the sofa.
Although Petunia didn't say a harsh word to Harry, Harry noticed that she always served him the food first, then Vernon and Dudley, and in much larger portions than before.
She even changed the sheets in Harry's room, even though the sheets looked like they were from the 1970s.
Vernon's attitude was the most awkward; he wasn't the kind of person who could feign kindness.
Every time Harry came down the stairs, Vernon would instinctively tense his shoulders.
But he never spoke to Harry in that loud, roaring manner again; at most, he would let out a muffled groan and turn his gaze to the television screen.
Harry thought at the time that maybe they were just frightened by the magical scenes in the book.
After all, in the the Dursley family' eyes, Harry was someone who had defeated Troll, survived the giant chessboard, and finally confronted a wizard possessed by the Dark Lord.
Even if it was just an eleven-year-old child, in their eyes it became some kind of unpredictable danger.
The next morning, Harry woke up in bed to find himself back in the mirror with his round-framed glasses and bangs covering his lightning bolt scar; the Polyjuice Potion's effects had completely worn off.
Vernon called Harry into the living room.
" Potter," Vernon, sitting in an armchair with his hands clasped together on his knees, "I've talked to your Aunt Petunia... you're not going out this summer."
Harry frowned. "Why?"
"Why?" Vernon's voice rose slightly, but he immediately lowered it again, as if something had blocked it.
He cleared his throat and pointed towards the window. "Look outside. If we hadn't taken down the mailbox, the letters would have filled this room."
Harry didn't argue; he knew Vernon was telling the truth.
The Dursley family ' mailbox had been removed before Harry returned, because hundreds of letters were arriving daily from all over the country.
Some came from educated Muggle readers, others from wizards in the Wizarding World; the content was incredibly diverse.
People sent Harry gifts, people asked him for autographed photos, and people asked all sorts of bizarre questions.
Petunia eventually had to put up a "Do Not Deliver" sign on the door, but it was to no avail.
The letters stopped appearing only after Vernon, in a fit of anger, completely dismantled the mailbox and threw it into the garage. Instead, people started trying to slip envelopes under the door every day.
Therefore, the windows and door gaps were also boarded up, Vernon personally stood by and directed the workers to nail every window facing the street shut with planks.