Petunia's explanation was "for safety," but Harry knew the real reason was that onlookers would occasionally walk around to the side of the house and peer through the windows.
Because Number Four, Privet Drive is now one of the most famous "tourist attractions" in all of Great Britain.
Although Harry's return and the Polyjuice Potion temporarily transformed him into an ordinary-looking chubby boy, much to the disappointment of the enthusiastic readers and reporters waiting at the door, the reality was far from what they expected.
But no one wanted to believe that Harry really wasn't at the Dursley family.
The wooden boards nailed to the windows are the best proof—if there's nothing worth hiding inside, why block the windows?
Soon after, even the government's social services department came to visit.
It was a woman wearing thin-rimmed glasses and a dark gray suit, who talked with Vernon in the living room for almost half an hour.
Harry overheard snippets of their conversation, which essentially suggested that, given the book's widespread influence, the the Dursley family should take necessary isolation measures for " Harry's personal safety and public order."
After the woman left, Vernon's face was even more somber than usual, but he simply slammed the door shut and then slumped heavily into the sofa, remaining silent for a long time.
And so Harry ended up trapped at Number Four, Privet Drive.
The entire house was turned into a nailed-down box.
Every morning when he wakes up, he doesn't see sunlight and clouds, but the grain of the wooden planks nailed to the window frame.
The wooden planks were painted white, but very little light could see through the cracks; he could barely see anything in the room until eight or nine in the morning.
During the day, he flipped through books about the Wizarding World, wanting to write to Hermione and Ron to tell them that he was doing alright.
But he sadly discovered that it seemed no one could deliver his letter; Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to have no desire to have any contact with the Wizarding World.
As for Dudley? Now he runs far away every time he sees Harry.
Harry was getting increasingly bored. In this house, he neither received letters from his friends nor could he send his own.
He tried to practice spells, but Professor McGonagall's warning still echoed in his ears: underage wizards cannot cast spells in Muggle dwellings.
He didn't even dare to take out his wand casually.
He really wanted to go out for a while.
He wanted to sit in the garden for a while, or even just stand on the lawn for five minutes, so he could see the sky, feel the breeze, and not have a wooden plank above his head or a two-finger-width band of light in front of him.
But that won't work.
Vernon and Petunia were in agreement: even Dudley's swimming lessons were canceled for a month.
The entire Number Four, Privet Drive is under a state of mandatory quarantine. Even Dudley no longer goes out and spends all day in the living room playing video games, his chubby fingers clicking incessantly on the controller.
Sometimes in the evening, Harry would lie on the bedroom floor, pressing his ear against the cracks in the wooden planks, listening to the sounds outside.
He heard the sound of cars driving by, footsteps, the laughter of the neighbor's children, and the hum of a lawnmower in the distance.
Those sounds were so close, yet it felt like an entire world separated them.
He missed Hogwarts more and more.
I miss the moving portraits in the castle corridors, the ever-changing starry sky on the Great Hall ceiling, the sound of the wind whistling past my ears on the Quidditch pitch, and the night Ron and I sneaked some kitchen cookies together.
He even began to miss Snape's gloomy face, the one that never gave him a kind look.
At least there weren't wooden planks everywhere in Hogwarts.
He missed that freedom, that feeling of being able to run freely in the hallway without being photographed by the neighbors.
All he can do now is lie in this room studded with wooden planks, listening to the occasional clicks of camera shutters and whispers outside the window.
Uncle Vernon's voice came from downstairs, as if he were on the phone with someone, his tone carrying a nervous tension, as if he was desperately trying to sound casual to the other person.
"--Of course, of course, we'll prepare a very lavish meal. Mr. Mason and his wife will certainly have a pleasant evening..."
"No, no, that's perfectly fine. Our home is very quiet and private..."
Harry rolled his eyes.
The Mason family —that was the name Uncle Vernon had been repeating for two whole weeks.
It is said that Mr. Mason is the purchasing director of a construction company in Great Britain, and he has a very large project in his hands.
If Uncle Vernon can persuade him to cooperate, his drilling rig sales company's performance can double.
So Uncle Vernon took this dinner party more seriously than anything else, and started cleaning the house, preparing ingredients, and practicing greetings several days in advance.
Aunt Petunia was so nervous, it was as if she were welcoming the Queen.
She bought a new set of plates, changed the curtains in the living room to dark red velvet, and spent a whole day studying how to cook roast beef.
Harry didn't care; whether Mr. Mason came or not was none of his business.
All he needed to do was stay quietly in his room and not show his face.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had spoken to him about this not in a commanding tone, but rather in an almost pleading one.
Uncle Vernon even sat down opposite Harry after dinner and said in a serious tone:
" Harry, you know, if you show up in front of Mr. Mason, he'll recognize you. Everyone in Great Britain knows your face now."
Aunt Petunia nodded repeatedly beside him, "We didn't mean anything by it, Harry, we just—we just hope everyone gets through the night safely."
Harry looked at their cautious manner and felt a little amused, but also a little unsettled.
He nodded and said, "I won't go out. I'll stay inside. You all go about your business."
Both Dursley breathed a sigh of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from their shoulders.
On the night of the banquet, Harry prepared to return to his bedroom early.
To his surprise, when he opened the door, there was already a small creature sitting on the bed.
He was only about two feet tall, with skin as rough as old, brown leather, wrinkled and clinging to his thin bones.
He had large, bat-like ears with clearly defined outlines that revealed the veins inside, and protruding, tennis ball-sized green eyes that made him look somewhat frightening.
His nose was flat and his mouth was wide. When he saw Harry enter the room, he immediately stood on the floor and bowed deeply to Harry.
"Oh--hello," Harry said, somewhat surprised.
" Harry Potter!" he said in a high-pitched, trembling voice, as if struggling to suppress some immense excitement, " Dobby has been eager to meet you, sir... It would be an honor..."
Vernon's voice came from downstairs, followed by a doorbell ring. Petunia called from the kitchen, "Coming, coming!"