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

Van Lin would give him some advice, and he was confident that his friends would not let him down.

At least, there were no damn dreams on this night.

Soon, it was time for the Dursleys' breakfast.

When Harry arrived in the kitchen, the three of them were already sitting around the table. He walked and sat down silently, and no one looked up the whole time. The uncle's blushing face was obscured by the morning paper, and the aunt was dividing the grapefruit into four parts, her teeth like horse's teeth, and her lips were shrunch.

Dudley looked angry and angry, as if he was going to occupy more of his usual place. He always occupies an entire side of this square table. When his aunt put a quarter of the not too sweet grapes on his plate, he glared at her angrily, but she still said to her, "Yours, eat, dear!"

Aunt Vernon and Aunt Petunia made excuses for their son's low scores, with the aunt saying that Dudley was a very talented child, but the teacher did not understand him, and the uncle said that he did not want his son to study too hard. They only said a word about the criticism on the report card, and the aunt said with tears in her eyes, "He is a child with a violent temperament, but he will not hurt a fly." ”

However, at the end of the report card, there was a comment from the school's nurse, and my aunt and uncle couldn't explain it. No matter how much my aunt complained about Dudley's big bones, the cost per pound was about the same as that of a puppy, saying that he needed enough food when he was growing up. But that doesn't change that, as the school clothing salesman says he can't find that big bloomers for Dudley to wear. The school nurse noticed that her aunt's eyes were only sharp when someone had made fingerprints on her shiny walls and watched the neighbors come and go, but she had turned a blind eye to her son's problems, and Dudley did not need nourishment, and had actually reached the weight of a killer whale in weight and size.

There were many tantrums, arguments that made Harry's bedroom floor tremble, and Aunt shed many tears, and a new list of diets began. The food list, which was given to the school nurse and pasted on the refrigerator, removed all of Dudley's favorite foods: sparkling drinks, cakes, chocolate candies, hamburgers, and stuffed with fruits, vegetables, and what his uncle called "rabbit food." She now gave Harry a grapefruit, and Harry noticed that his share was much smaller than Dudley's. Aunt seemed to feel that the best way to keep Dudley motivated was to convince Dudley that he had indeed eaten more than Harry.

But my aunt didn't know what was hidden under the floor upstairs. She didn't know that Harry hadn't eaten the recipe at all. As soon as he got the news that he might have to eat carrots for the rest of the summer, he immediately let Hedwig plead with his friends for help, and they were all generous. Hedwig brought back a large box of sugar-free snacks from Hermione's house (Hermione's parents were both dentists and naturally paid attention to the protection of their teeth).

Harry's school administrator gave him a bag of stone cakes, made at home (Harry hadn't moved yet, he knew too well about the caretaker's cooking skills, and Hagrid's teeth were not comparable to ordinary people). Mrs. Weasley sent her owl (Ero) to bring a large bag of fruit pie and various meat pies, but poor Ero, who was old and weak, needed five days to regain his strength. Later, on Harry's birthday (which Dursley completely ignored) he received four large cakes, one from Ron, Hermione, Van Lin, and Sirius. Harry also kept two more to make a real breakfast. He began to eat his sleeves without the slightest complaint.

The uncle let go of his newspaper and scoffed at it, disapprovingly, and then he looked at his share of the fruit.

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

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

The uncle sighed and messed up his big thick beard, and he picked up the spoon.

The doorbell rang, and my uncle got up from his chair and went out into the hall, where Dudley thunderbolted his father's share of what was left while his mother was busy filling the kettle.

Harry heard someone laugh at the door, and his uncle replied rudely. Then the front door closed, and the sound of paper tearing came from the hall.

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

She didn't have to wait long to know the answer: after about a minute, he was back. He looked angry.

He yelled at Harry, "You, go to the living room, right now!"

Confused as to what he had done, Harry stood up and followed his uncle out of the kitchen and into another room, where he slammed the door shut.

"So," he said as he walked over to the fireplace, turned to Harry, and roared as if he were about to arrest Harry, "therefore. ”

Harry would have asked rhetorically, "So, what?" but he didn't think it was important to mess with his uncle early in the morning, especially when breakfast was not enough to eat and he was highly stressed. So he stood there, polite but looking bewildered.

"This has just been received," said the uncle, waving a purple piece of letter to Harry, "a letter." Yours. ”

Harry was even more confused. Who was writing to his uncle about him, and who knew that letters were sent through the postal service?

She glared at Harry, then looked down at the letter and read it 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 is going to take place next Monday night, and my husband Arthur got a ticket through a relationship with the Department of Magical Sports.

I want you to allow us to pick Harry up for the game, because it's the only chance of a lifetime.

The United States hadn't been a host for thirty years, and tickets were particularly hard to come by, and we were certainly happy to have Harry spend the rest of his holidays with us until he was safely boarded on the train back to school.

It would be best to get Harry to write back to us as soon as possible, in the normal way, as non-wizarding postmen never deliver letters to our homes, and I'm not sure if he knows the address.

Hope to see Harry soon, your sincere Molly Weasley, and I do hope we've got enough stamps.

When my uncle finished reading the letter, he put his hand back in his breast pocket and pulled out another thing.

"Look at this!" he growled.

He held up Mrs. Weasley's letterhead, and Harry had to suppress the urge to laugh. The envelope was full of stamps, except for a small note of the Dursley's address in lowercase lettering.

Harry said, "She's got enough stamps," and tried to sound as if Mrs. Weasley had made a mistake that anyone could make. Uncle Vernon's eyes flashed.

The uncle's teeth rang loudly, and he said, "The postman noticed, and wondered with amusement where the letter came from, and that's why he rang the doorbell." He seemed to think it was funny. ”

Harry couldn't say a word. No one could understand why his uncle would be so critical of stamps, but Harry and Dudley had lived together for too long to be unaware that they would be allergic to anything out of the ordinary. Their biggest fear is that someone else will associate them with someone like Mrs. Weasley.

Uncle Vernon still glared at Harry, who tried his best to force nature, not to say stupid things, not to do stupid things. He waited for Uncle Vernon to speak. But he just stared. Harry decided to break the loneliness.

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

My uncle's purple face twitched, and his beard stood up. Harry knew that behind the beard, his uncle's two most fundamental instincts were in fierce confrontation. Allowing Harry to go would make Harry happy, contrary to what his uncle had been fighting for for thirteen years, and on the other hand, letting Harry go to the Weasley's house for the rest of his vacation, leaving two weeks early, was something that no one else wanted. Uncle really hated Harry in his house. As if to give himself time to think about it, he looked at Mrs. Weasley's envelope again.

"Who is this woman?" he said, staring at his signature in disgust.

"You've seen it," said Harry, "she's the mother of my friend Ron, and she's taking him off Hogg...... , get off the school train, that was last semester not. ”

He almost said "Hogwarts Express", which would have made his uncle furious. No one dared to mention the name of Harry's School at Dursley's house.

The uncle's face wrinkled one after another, as if he was trying to remember something very unpleasant.

"Humpty Dumpty type of woman?" he snarled at the end, "a whole bunch of red-haired kids?"

Harry frowned, his uncle could call anyone "Humpty Dumpty", but not for his own son, who had not been allowed to do so since he was three years old.

My uncle looked at the letter again.

"Quidditch World Cup," he muttered with bated breath, "what kind of garbage is this?"

Harry was stabbed in anger again.

"It's a sport," he said shortly, "to race on a broom." ”

"Yes, yes!" said the aunt loudly. Harry was somewhat satisfied, and he saw that his uncle was a little frightened. It was clear that his nerves could not stand the word "broomstick" being uttered in his living room. He diverted his attention by reading the letters. Harry saw his lips as if to say, "Give us an answer in the normal way." He glared.

"What does she mean?" he questioned.

"It's normal for us," said Harry, who had not yet stopped him, and added, "You know, sending letters with owls. That's normal for wizards. “

Uncle Vernon looked furious, as if Harry had just made a disgusting vow. Trembling with rage, he looked out of the window uneasily, as if to see some of his neighbors leaning their ears to the glass and eavesdropping.

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

"It's just that Dudley doesn't want to wear it!" said Harry coldly, indeed, the undershirt he wore was too big, the sleeves had to be rolled up five times before reaching out, the undershirt was long above the knees, and his jeans were particularly fat.

"Don't talk to me like that!" said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage.

But Harry wasn't prepared to put up with that any longer. The days when he was forced to obey the rules of the Dursleys were gone, and he would not eat according to Dudley's recipe. He wouldn't let Uncle Vernon stop him from going to the Quidditch World Cup.

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

He did so, as if to say something magical, and now he saw his uncle's face purple and covered with sweat droplets, which looked like ice cream mixed with black vinegar grains.

"You're going to write to him, aren't you?" said Uncle Vernon, trying to calm down, but Harry saw his pupils constricting from fear.

"Oh," said Harry casually, "it's been a while since he's received my letter, and you know that if he hadn't received my letter, he'd probably start to wonder if there was any trouble. ”

He stood there, triumphantly appreciating the effect of those words. He could almost see what his uncle was thinking. If he stopped 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 there is only one thing that my uncle can do. It was as if Harry could see the conclusion taking shape in his uncle's brain, as if his brain were transparent. Harry tried to be as expressionless as he could, and then- "Well, you can go and watch this stupid - World Cup." You wrote to tell these Weasleys, that they were coming to pick you up, and I didn't have time to send you. You can spend your vacation there. What you can tell you – your godfather. Tell him...... Tell him...... You're going. ”

That's Harry's killer feature, a murderer, uh...... Ever.

In the Muggle world, though, this has not been reversed, and the Ministry of Magic will not go to great lengths to erase the memories of so many people.

Naturally, Uncle Vernon's perception of Sirius was still stuck in the time when he had killed people.

This was a terrible thing for a Muggle, not to mention that Vernon knew that it was Harry's godfather, a wizard who had killed people by wizards, and that Muggle police could not do anything.

If Sirius was upset, the Vernons would be threatened or something else.

If it really happened, Vernon couldn't do anything about it, and if it weren't for Harry's inability to use magic outside of school, then Vernon would naturally have a fear of Harry.

Of course, this can't be changed out of habit.

Harry didn't care, as long as he was an adult, he would be able to get out of here.

This killer trick was taught to him by Fan Lin before leaving, it is called building momentum!