Chapter 482: Letter From the Weasleys

After Hedwig flew out of the narrow window, Harry seemed to relax.

Fanlin will give him some advice, and he believes that his friends will not let him down.

At least, there were no damn dreams this night.

Soon, it was breakfast time for the Dursleys.

When Harry arrived in the kitchen, the three of them were already sitting around the table. He walked over silently and sat down, and no one raised their head during the whole process. My uncle's red face was covered by the morning newspaper. My aunt was dividing the grapefruit into four parts. Her teeth were like horse teeth and her lips were pursed.

Dudley looked angry, angry, and seemed to be taking up more space than usual. He always occupied one entire side of this square table. When his aunt put a quarter of the not-so-sweet grapes on his plate, he gave her an angry look, but she still said to her, "Eat it, my dear!" After the report came back, his life became unhappy.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, as usual, made excuses for their son's low grades. The aunt said that Dudley was a very talented child, but it was a pity that the teacher did not understand him. The uncle said that he did not want his son to study too hard. They only mentioned the critical words on the report card. My aunt said with tears in her eyes, "He is a child with a violent temper, but he will not hurt a fly."

However, there was a comment from the school nurse at the end of the report card that my uncle and aunt could not explain. No matter how much my aunt complained about Dudley's big bones, the price per pound was about the same as a puppy. He said he needed enough food as he grew. But it couldn't change this fact. The school clothing salesperson said that they could no longer find short bloomers that big for Dudley to wear. The school nurse noticed that her aunt's eyes were only sharp when someone left fingerprints on her shiny walls and watched the comings and goings of her neighbors, but turned a blind eye to her son's problem. Dudley did not need nourishment and actually had In terms of weight and size, it has reached the weight of a killer whale.

Many tantrums were lost, arguments were made that made Harry's bedroom floor tremble, many tears were shed by his aunt, and a new list of dietary rules was begun. The food list was given by the school nurse and posted on the refrigerator. It removed all Dudley's favorite things: sparkling drinks, cakes, chocolate candies, hamburgers, and instead filled it with fruits, vegetables, and what his uncle called To make Dudley feel better, his aunt insisted that the whole family eat from the new food list. She now offered Harry a portion of the grapefruit, and Harry noticed that his portion was much smaller than Dudley's. Auntie seemed to feel that the best way to keep Dudley's fighting spirit was to convince Dudley that he indeed ate more than Harry.

But my aunt didn't know yet what was hidden under the floorboards upstairs. She didn't know that Harry didn't follow the recipe at all. As soon as he got wind that he might have to spend the summer eating carrots, he immediately released Hedwig and begged his friends for help, and they all generously helped. Hedwig brought back a large box of sugar-free snacks from Hermione's house (Hermione's parents are both dentists, so she naturally pays great attention to the protection of her teeth).

Harry's school caretaker gave him a bag of stone cakes made at home (Harry hadn't moved yet, he was very aware of the caretaker's cooking skills, and Hagrid's teeth were not comparable to ordinary people). Mrs. Weasley sent her owl (Erro) to deliver a large bag of fruit pies and various meat pies. Poor Eero was old and frail and needed five days to regain his strength. Later, on Harry's birthday (which Dursley completely ignored), he received four large cakes, one from each of Ron, Hermione, Verlin, and Sirius. Harry had two left to make real breakfast. He started eating the sleeves without any complaint.

My uncle put down his newspaper, sneered and disapproved, then looked at his share of fruit.

"Is that all?" he muttered to his aunt.

His aunt gave him a stern look and nodded as Dudley nodded. Dudley had already finished his portion, and his greedy little eyes were still looking at Harry's portion sourly.

The uncle sighed, ruffled his thick beard, and picked up the spoon.

The doorbell rang, and my uncle got up from his chair and went into the hall, where Dudley, while his mother was busy filling the kettle, ate the rest of his father's share like a thunderbolt.

Harry heard a conversation at the door, someone laughing, and his uncle responded rudely. Then the front door closed and the sound of tearing paper came from the hall.

Auntie put the teapot on the table and looked around curiously, wondering where her uncle had gone.

She didn't have to wait long to find out: after about a minute, he came back. He looked angry.

He yelled at Harry, "You, come into the living room, now!"

Harry was confused and didn't know what he had done this time. Harry stood up and followed his uncle out of the kitchen and into another room. His uncle closed the door with a bang.

"Therefore," he said, walking to the fireplace, turning to Harry and snarling as if to arrest him, "therefore."

Harry was about to ask, "So, what?" but he didn't think it was right to mess with his uncle so early in the morning, especially when there was not enough food for breakfast and the tension was high. So there he stood, polite but looking bewildered.

"This just came in," my uncle said, waving a piece of purple paper to Harry. "A letter. Yours."

Harry was even more confused. Who is writing to my uncle about him? Who knew about sending letters through the postal service?

The aunt glared at Harry, then looked down at the letter and read aloud: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, We have never met, but I am sure you know a lot about my son Ron.

Harry may have told you that the Quidditch final will be held next Monday night, and my husband Arthur got the tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games.

I hope you will allow us to take Harry to the game because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

The United States had not been a host for thirty years, and tickets were particularly hard to come by, so we were of course delighted to have Harry spend the rest of the holiday with us until he was safely on the train back to school.

It would be best if Harry wrote back to us as soon as possible, in the normal way, because the non-magical postman never delivers letters to our house and I'm not sure he knows the address.

Hope to see Harry soon, yours sincerely, Molly Weasley PS; I do hope we've put enough stamps on it.

After my uncle finished reading the letter, he put his hand back into his breast pocket and pulled out something else.

"Look at this!" he roared.

He held up Mrs. Weasley's letter, and Harry had to suppress the urge to laugh. The envelope was full of stamps, except for a small strip of the Dursleys' address written in small letters.

"She's stamped," Harry said, trying to sound as if Mrs. Weasley had made a mistake that anyone could have made. Uncle Vernon's eyes flashed.

His uncle gritted his teeth and said, "The postman noticed it and was very interested in wondering where the letter came from, which is why he rang the doorbell. He seemed to think it was funny."

Harry couldn't say a word. Others didn't understand why their uncle was picky about too many stamps, but Harry and Dudley had lived together for too long to know that they were allergic to anything out of the ordinary. Their biggest concern was being associated with someone like Mrs. Weasley.

Uncle Vernon was still glaring at Harry, who was trying his best to act natural and not say or do stupid things. He waited for Uncle Vernon to speak. But he just stared. Harry decided to break his loneliness.

"So...can I go?" he asked.

My uncle's big purple face twitched and his beard stood up. Harry knew that behind that beard, his uncle's two most fundamental natures were in fierce conflict. Allowing Harry to go would make Harry happy, which was contrary to what his uncle had been fighting for for thirteen years. On the other hand, allowing Harry to spend the rest of the holiday at the Weasleys and leaving two weeks early would This is what others want. My uncle really hated having Harry in his house. As if to give himself time to think, he looked again at Mrs. Weasley's envelope.

"Who is this woman?" he said, staring at the signature with disgust.

"You've already seen her," Harry said. "She's my friend Ron's mother. She picked him up from the Hog... and off the school train at the end of last term."

He almost said "Hogwarts Express," which would have made his uncle furious. No one dared mention the name of Harry's school in the Dursleys' house.

There were wrinkles on my uncle's face as if he was trying to remember something extremely unpleasant.

"Pudgy type of woman?" he growled at last. "A lot of red-headed kids?"

Harry frowned. His uncle could call anyone "chunky", but he could never call his own son. He had been forbidden to call him that way since he was three years old.

My uncle read the letter again.

"Quidditch World Cup," he muttered under his breath, "What kind of rubbish is this?"

Harry was stabbed with anger again.

"It's a sport," he said shortly, "that's played on broomsticks."

"Yes, yes!" my aunt said loudly. Harry was somewhat satisfied, seeing that his uncle was a little scared. It was obvious that his nerves couldn't bear the word "broom" being uttered in his living room. He diverted his attention by reading the letter. Harry saw his lips seem to say, "Answer us in the normal way." He glared.

"Normal way? What does she mean?" he demanded.

"That's normal for us," Harry said, before his uncle could stop him, and he added, "You know, sending letters by owl. That's normal for wizards."

Uncle Vernon looked furious, as if Harry had just made a disgusting oath. Shaking with anger, he looked out the window uneasily, as if he might see some neighbors listening with their ears against the glass.

"How many times have I told you not to mention unnatural things in your house?" he said, his face turning completely the color of liver. "You stand there, you ungrateful thing, wearing the clothes that your aunt and I gave you..."

"It's just that Dudley doesn't need it anymore!" Harry said coldly. Indeed, the sweatshirt he was wearing was too big, and the sleeves had to be rolled up five times before he could reach out. The sweatshirt was longer than his knees, and his jeans were also very baggy. .

"You're not allowed to talk to me like that!" said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage.

But Harry wasn't prepared to endure this anymore. The days of being forced to obey the Dursleys' rules were over, and he wouldn't eat Dudley's diet. He wasn't going to let Uncle Vernon stop him from going to the Quidditch World Cup.

"I'll write to my godfather, you know, Sirius Black."

He had done so, as if he had spoken some magic words, and now he saw the purple fade from his uncle's face, which was covered with sweat and looked like ice cream mixed with black vinegar granules.

"You'll write to him, won't you?" said Uncle Vernon, trying to calm down, but Harry saw his pupils constrict with fear.

"Well," said Harry casually, "it's been a while since he's had my letter, you know, and if he hadn't, he might have started to think there was some trouble."

He stood there, enjoying the effect of these words. He could almost see what his uncle was thinking. If he prevented Harry from writing to Sirius, Sirius would think that Harry was being abused. If he didn't allow Harry to go to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry would write to Sirius and he would think Harry was being abused. Then uncle can only do one thing. Harry seemed to be able to see the conclusions forming in his uncle's brain, as if his brain were transparent. Harry tried his best to show no expression, and then - "Well, you can go to this stupid - World Cup. You write and tell these, these Weasleys, asking them to pick you up. I don't have time." Go and see you off. You can tell your godfather there... tell him... you're going."

That's Harry's trump card, a murderer, well... ever.

However, in the Muggle world, this has not been undone, and the Ministry of Magic will not go to great lengths to erase the memories of so many people.

Of course, Uncle Vernon's knowledge of Sirius was still limited to the time when he had killed people.

This was a very scary thing for Muggles, not to mention that Vernon also knew that it was Harry's godfather, a wizard who had killed people, and the Muggle police could not play any role.

If Sirius was made unhappy, the Vernon family would be threatened or something else would happen.

If it really happened, there would be nothing Vernon could do. If it weren't for the fact that Harry couldn't use magic outside of school, then Vernon would naturally be afraid of Harry.

Of course, out of habit, this cannot be changed.

Harry didn't care, as long as he reached adulthood, he could leave here.

This trump card was something Fan Lin taught him before he left, it's called building momentum! (To be continued)