Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard, as if he were running. Pen @ fun @ pavilion wWw. ｂｉｑUｇE。 info A vivid dream woke him up and he covered his face with his hands. The old scar on his forehead, like a thunderbolt, burned under his fingers, as if someone had pressed a red-hot wire against his skin.

He sat up, pressed the scar with one hand, and in the darkness used the other hand to grab his glasses, which were placed on the table next to the bed. He put on his glasses, and the bedroom could be seen more clearly, as the faint orange-yellow light shone through the curtains in the room.

Harry touched the scar with his fingers, which still hurt, turned on the light beside him, got up from the bed, walked to the other end of the room, opened the closet, and looked into the mirror inside the cabinet door: a thin fourteen-year-old boy looked at him, his black hair was disheveled, and a pair of bright green eyes showed a puzzled look. He looked at the thunderbolt scar a little closer. It looks normal, but it still has a hot feeling.

Harry struggled to remember what had been in his dream before waking up, and it all seemed so real,...... There were two people, one hidden in the shadows, and the other could not see his face..... He desperately focused and struggled to remember......

The dim picture of a gloomy room came to him, with a snake on the carpet in front of the hearth, a figure in the corner of the room, and a person, the voice of Voldemort. Thinking of this, he felt as if he had swallowed a large lump of ice......

He closed his eyes and tried to think about Voldemort's appearance, but it was impossible, all Harry could remember was the fear and convulsions he felt when Voldemort's chair turned, and ...... maybe the pain of the scar woke him up.

Who is that old man? Because there must be such an old man. Harry saw him fall to the ground. It all became blurry, and Harry covered his face with his hands and used his house as a composition, trying to catch the picture of the gloomy room, but doing so was like scooping water with a synthetic cup-shaped hand, and when he tried to remember the details, they slipped away...... Voldemort was talking to a man about the man they had killed, but the name of the man he couldn't remember...... And they're planning to kill one more person...... That's him......

Harry took his hands away, opened his eyes, and looked around the room, as if to see something out of the ordinary. Yes, there really are many unusual things in his room.

At the foot of his bed was a large wooden chest, open, revealing the cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and various spell books that Harry had read before going to bed the previous night. The pictures in the book are all moving, and the young men in bright orange-red robes are riding on broomsticks, whizzing around, throwing a red ball at each other.

Harry walked over and picked up the book, watching as a wizard threw the ball into a fifty-foot ring and won a point beautifully. Immediately, Harry slammed the book shut. Quidditch, in Harry's opinion, was the most exciting sport in the world, but it couldn't attract his attention at the moment. He put the book called "Flying with the Artillery Team" on the bedside table, walked to the window, opened the curtains, and looked out into the street below.

Privet Road looks exactly what a respectable suburban street should look like in the early hours of a Sunday morning. The curtains on both sides of the street were drawn tightly. Harry looked in the darkness and couldn't see a living thing, not even a kitten.

However...... However...... Harry restlessly returned to the bed, sat down, and reached out another finger to caress his scar. It wasn't the pain of the scars that bothered him, Harry was used to pain and injuries. Once, all the bones in his right arm were gone, but they all grew overnight, and it was really painful. Soon after, the same arm was stabbed by a fang. Just last year, Harry was flying fifty feet into the air when he fell off a flying broomstick. For him, bizarre accidents and injuries are a common occurrence. Now that you're at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you're good at causing trouble, there's no way you're going to avoid these accidents and injuries.

The last time the pain had occurred was because Voldemort was nearby, and it was this that upset Harry...... Voldemort couldn't be here at this moment...... Will Voldemort lurk on Privet Road? This idea is so ridiculous that it is absolutely impossible......

Harry listened in silence. Could he have heard the creaking of the stairs or the rustling of cloaks on the floor? Suddenly, he was slightly taken aback, and he heard his cousin Dudley snoring in the next room.

Harry slowly mustered up his courage. He's so stupid. In the whole house, only Uncle Vernon, Aunt Penny, and Dudley lived with him. They were apparently asleep, dreaming beautifully, undisturbed in any way.

Harry's favorite thing was when the Dursleys were asleep. That's not to say they're going to do him any help when he's awake. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Penny, and Dudley are Harry's only living relatives. They were all Muggles, hating and despising any form of magic, which meant that Harry was as unwelcome as mold in their home. For the past three years, Harry had gone to Hogwarts and had been away from home for long periods of time, and in order to dispel other people's doubts, they always explained that Harry had gone to St. Bruce's Correctional Facility, which was dedicated to incorrigible juvenile delinquents. They knew that Harry, as an underage wizard, was not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts, but whenever something went wrong at home, they always put the blame on him. Harry had never been able to tell them anything about his life in the wizarding world. Think about it, when they wake up, wouldn't it be ridiculous that he went and told them that his scar was painful and that he was worried that Voldemort was lurking nearby!

Fundamentally, it was because of Voldemort that Harry came here to live with the Drielly family. If it weren't for Voldemort, Harry wouldn't have had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. If it weren't for Voldemort, Harry's mom and dad would still be alive......

Harry shook his head.

He was in his fourth year at Hogwarts this summer, and Harry couldn't wait to get back to the castle.

But there are still two weeks left to leave. He reluctantly looked at his bedroom again, and his eyes fell on the birthday cards that had been sent to him at the end of July by the people he wanted and cared about the most. What would Harry say if he wrote to them and told them that his scars hurt?

Immediately, his mind seemed to be filled with a sense of imagery, Hermione Granger's voice: babbling, fussing.

Ron: "Your scars hurt?" Harry, that's no ordinary thing...... Write to Dumbledore! I'm going to look up Common Magical Pains...... Maybe the book will talk about Spell Scars......"

Owen: "Don't worry, Harry, I'll take care of everything, if Voldemort dares to show up." ”

Sirius: "...."

That's right, Sirius!

Harry thought of his godfather, who was now in a London residence and had received a letter from him!

Yes, I should have told Sirius .... Harry thought so, and then he got up and began to find a pen and paper.

(To be continued.) )