Chapter 781: Bad Summer Vacation

The hottest day of summer was just over halfway through, and a drowsy tranquility enveloped the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Dusty cars parked with lights shining on lawns that were once green but were now burnt yellow because rubber hoses were no longer allowed for watering. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the residents of Privet Drive retreated to their shady homes, windows wide open in the hopeless hope of a cool breeze.

Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to his neighbors who liked to see others brought to justice, but as he hid behind a hydrangea bush this evening he was invisible to passers-by.

In fact, he was only likely to be discovered if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living room window and looked directly into the flower beds below.

Overall, Harry was glad he was hiding out here. He might not be very comfortable lying on this hot, hard earth, but on the other hand, no one here would find him dazzling, and the sound of grinding their teeth made him almost unable to hear the news. Or asking him some mean questions, which always happened every time he wanted to watch TV in the living room with his aunt and uncle.

Almost as if the thought flew through the open window, Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, suddenly spoke.

"It's good that the kid didn't break in again. But where is he now?"

"I don't know," Aunt Petunia said nonchalantly, "It's not in the house anyway."

Uncle Vernon muttered impatiently. "Look at the news," he said sternly. "I wonder what he wants to do. A normal boy would care about what the news says - nothing like Da Power! He doesn’t know anything; it’s almost doubtful whether he knows who the current minister is! In any case, anything about his group of people should not be in our news-"

"Hush, Vernon," said Aunt Petunia, "the window is open!"

Dursley fell silent. Harry heard the jingle of the fruit breakfast basket, and he happened to see old Mrs. Fogg, an eccentric cat-loving old lady from Wisteria Road, slowly strolling over. Harry was very happy that he was now hiding behind the bushes. Yes, because Mrs. Fogg had recently sent him to her place for tea whenever she saw him on the street.

She turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

Uncle Vernon's voice came from the window again.

"Did Dudley go out for tea?"

"At the Perco Keyses' house," said Aunt Petunia dotingly, "he had so many little friends, and he was so lovable."

Harry suppressed the laughter that escaped his nostrils.

The Dursleys had such foolish and pitiful trust in their son Dudley. They believed the idiotic lie that Dudley had gone out for tea with different guys every night during the holidays.

Harry knew very well that Dudley hadn't been drinking tea anywhere. Dudley and his gang went to the park every night to wreak havoc, smoking on street corners and throwing rocks at passing cars and children. Harry saw them while he was walking along Little Waking Road. He spent most of his vacation wandering the streets, picking up newspapers from trash cans on the road and reading them.

The opening music announcing the 7 o'clock news reached Harry's ears. His stomach flipped.

"As a strike by baggage handlers at Spanish airports enters its first week, a record number of helpless holidaymakers fill the airport - "

"If it were me, I would make them lose their jobs forever," Uncle Vernon shouted when he heard the broadcaster's last words. But no matter what, outside the flower stand, Harry's heart seemed to be pried open.

If something had happened, it would have been death and destruction in the headlines far more than helpless holidaymakers.

He slowly took a long breath and stared at the dazzling blue sky. Every day this summer was exactly the same: nervousness, anticipation, brief relaxation, and nervousness again... always, never stopped, why did nothing happen? ? He continued to listen, in case there was some small clue that wouldn't really be known to the Muggles - an unexplained disappearance, or perhaps, some strange accident.

But the baggage handlers strike was followed by drought in the South East.

Harry opened his eyes. There was nothing worth staying here. He raised his head carefully, crawled forward on his knees and elbows, and prepared to climb out from under the window.

Just as he moved two inches, something happened. A loud crackling roar, like the sound of artillery fire, broke the sleep-like tranquility. A cat anxiously ran out from under a parked car and disappeared. There was a scream and a curse. The sound of breaking china came from the Dursley's living room.

As if this was the signal he had been waiting for, Harry jumped to his feet and pulled a stick from the waistband of his jeans as if it were a sword - but before he could When he had time to stand up, his head suddenly collided with the suddenly opened window of the Dursley's house. The result of the collision made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.

Harry felt as if his head had been split in two. He staggered, his eyes dazzled, trying his best to pay attention to the road and identify the source of the noise, but before he could stagger to his feet, a pair of huge purple hands reached out from the window and squeezed his throat tightly. .

"Throw it away!" Uncle Vernon shouted in his ear, "Don't let anyone see it!"

"Let me go!" Harry said breathlessly. They struggled for a few seconds. Harry used his left hand to push his uncle's sausage-like fingers as hard as he could, and his right hand grasped his wand tightly, as if the top of Harry's head was One of his particularly uncomfortable moments was when Uncle Vernon screamed in pain and let go of Harry, as if he had been suddenly shocked.

An unseen force was released from his nephew that he could not catch.

Harry panted forward over the hydrangea bush, stood upright and looked around.

There was no sign of what was causing the noise, but faces peered in from nearby windows. Harry hastily thrust his wand back into his trousers and made an innocent face.

"What a lovely night!" cried Uncle Vernon, waving to Mrs. No. 7 opposite the door, who was looking out from the mesh curtains at home. "Did you hear the car backfiring just now? It scared me and Petunia. A jump!"

He continued to grin a hideous grin until all the curious neighbors had disappeared from their windows, and then the smile turned into an extremely angry contortion, and he beckoned Harry back.

Harry took a few steps closer to him, carefully standing out of Uncle Vernon's reach in case Uncle Vernon stretched out his hand and strangled him to death.

"What the hell are you talking about, kid?" Uncle Vernon screamed, his voice trembling with anger.

"What am I doing?" Harry said grimly, still looking around, trying to figure out who was causing the noise.

"A racket was pointed at me from outside like a gun..."

"I didn't make that sound!" Harry said firmly. Aunt Petunia's long, horsey face appeared behind Uncle Vernon's broad purple face. She looked very blue.

"Why were you lurking under our window just now?"

"Yes, yes, good question, Penny, what were you doing under our window just now?"

"Listen to the news," Harry said in a resigned tone. His aunt and uncle exchanged angry glances.

"Listen to the news? Say it again?"

"You know, there's something new every day," Harry said.

"Don't think you're smart on me! Boy! I need to know what the hell you're thinking? Stop telling me to listen to this nonsense on the news. You know very well that you guys-"

"Careful, Vernon!" whispered Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that Harry could hardly hear him. "You people don't listen to our news!"

"That's just what you know," Harry said.

Dursley stared at him for a few seconds, then Aunt Petunia said, "You dirty little liar, that," and he lowered his voice so that Harry could only recognize it from the shape of her mouth. Some of the following words are, "What is the owl doing, and why doesn't it bring you news?"

"Aha!" Uncle Vernon said in a triumphant whisper, "You heard that! Boy, do you think we don't know you get news from those plague birds?" Harry hesitated for a moment. He had to admit this. The truth was, though his aunt and uncle had no idea how bad he was admitting to feeling.

"The owl—brought me no news," he said dully.

"I don't believe it!" Aunt Petunia said immediately. "Me neither!" Uncle Vernon said excitedly. "We knew you were planning something weird," Aunt Petunia said. "We're not stupid!" said Uncle Vernon.

"That's news to me," said Harry, his temper rising, and he ran off before Dursley could call him back. Crossing the front lawn, stepping over the low flower wall, and striding onto the street.

He knew that he was in trouble now, and he knew that he would have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay for his rudeness, but he didn't want to think so much now, he had more urgent things on his mind.

Harry was sure that the sound was produced by someone organized or unorganized. It sounded like Dobby the house elf when he disappeared into thin air. Could it be that Dobby is at Privet Drive now? Would Dobby follow him at a time like this? This shouldn't be the case. Dobby was left in Hogwarts by Fan Lin. If something really happened, Fan Lin would definitely come to find him. Could it be Fan Lin? According to Dumbledore, the holidays are already halfway over...

With this thought, he looked around again, and then looked down Privet Drive, but there was nothing there. Harry was sure that Dobby didn't know how to become invisible, and he was also sure that Fanlin was not lurking aside. This was natural. Things, he and Hermione were in Egypt.

He continued walking aimlessly, letting him know all these roads well. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder, convinced that something magical was near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia's dead begonias. Why didn't they speak to him? Why didn't you contact him? Why are they still hiding it now. Then his almost defeated feeling deflated him. Maybe there's no magic at all. Maybe he wanted to find even the smallest thing about his world so much that he was now too sensitive to even the smallest sound.

Was he sure that it wasn't the sound of something breaking in a neighbor's house? Harry felt a dull, heavy feeling in his stomach, a feeling of hopelessness that he knew had plagued him many times this summer.

Tomorrow morning he would wake up to the five o'clock alarm so he could pay the owl that brought him the Daily Prophet - but would there be any new news? Harry just glanced at the front page these days and tossed the paper aside. Harry was only interested in the idiot who ran the newspaper realizing that Voldemort had returned and making it a front-page headline.

If he was lucky, he would receive an owl from his friend Ron. Egypt was too far away to count on Fanlin and Hermione.

Although he wished Ron or Sirius could tell him some news, they couldn't.

We can't tell you about the mystery man, obviously, being told not to do so in case our owl falls into someone else's hands, we're busy but we can't tell you the details here, things will become clearer when we meet All your things - but when will they see him?

No one told an exact date.

Ron scrawled on his birthday card I hope to see you soon, but when exactly?

Or does Dumbledore think Ron and the others can understand the situation better than he does?

Harry told himself for the nth time this summer not to think that way. It was bad enough that he was revisiting his destination in his dreams, but it was also bad enough that he was wandering aimlessly without a place to stay.

He turned the corner onto Crescent Magnolia Street. It was near the garage halfway down the narrow alley that he met his godfather for the first time.

At least Sirius seemed to understand how Harry felt.

Admittedly, his letter said nothing like Ron's, but at least it contained some comforting warnings, which felt much better than those anxious clues.

I know this is disappointing to you, take care of yourself, stay out of your own business, things will get better, be careful and don't do anything rash...

Well, Harry thought, as he crossed Magnolia Crescent Street, walked up Magnolia Road, and headed towards Anhei Sports Park, he had done (and even exceeded) what Sirius had suggested to him.

He had tried his best to suppress the thought of strapping his luggage to his broom and setting off for the Burrow.

In fact, he felt that his behavior had left him frustrated and angry: he had been stuck in Privet Drive for so long, hiding under the flower beds in the hope of hearing a little bit about what Voldemort was doing. of reduction.

Harry stooped through the locked door and across the hot lawn. The park was as empty as the surrounding streets.

As he walked past the swings, he sat down on the only swing that had not been destroyed by Dudley and his gang. He wrapped one arm around the chain and looked at the ground angrily. He could no longer hide under the Dursleys' flower beds.

Tomorrow he would have to think of some new way to listen to the news. At the same time, he will have another restless, disturbed night that is not worth looking forward to.

Walking through long, dark corridors that ended in locked doors gave him a feeling of being trapped while he was awake. His scars often feel tingling, but he thinks this no longer attracts the interest of Ron, Hermione or Sirius. Maybe Fanlin will be more interested, but this does not seem surprising.

In the past, the pain in his scar had been a warning that Voldemort was powerful again, but now that Voldemort had risen, they might just tell him that it was just the result of constant anger - nothing to worry about - the same old thing. (To be continued)