Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard, as if he were running. ∮ Yan Moxuan ∮ no ads∮ 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, it still hurt, he turned on the light beside him, got up from the bed, walked to the other end of the room, opened the wardrobe, and looked into the mirror inside the cabinet door: a thin fourteen-year-old boy looked at him, his black head 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 he knew, and one he didn't know. He desperately focused and struggled to remember......

The bleak picture of the gloomy room came to him, with a snake on the carpet in front of the hearth, a dwarf named Peter, nicknamed Wentel, and a cold high-pitched voice, the voice of Foldermott. Thinking of this, he felt as if he had swallowed a large lump of ice......

He closed his eyes and tried to think about Faldemot's appearance, but it was impossible, all Harry could remember was the fear, the convulsions he felt as Faldemot's chair turned, and woke his mind...... Maybe it was the pain of the scar that woke him up?.

Who's that old man? Because there must be 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...... Foldermant and Wintel were talking about the man they had killed, but they couldn't remember the name of the man...... And they're planning to kill someone again...... He......

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.

A large box at the foot of the bed opened, revealing a large steam pot, broom, black shi, and different kinds of spelling textbooks. Rolls of parchment were scattered around his desk, not in the large, empty cage where his snow-white owl roosted. There was a book on the floor dagger next to the bed, open, which he had read before he went to bed last night. The pictures in the books are moving. Men in bright orange robes galloped on broomsticks, visible and invisible for a moment, throwing a red ball at each other.

Harry walked towards the book, picked it up, and saw a wizard scoring a good ball by throwing it over a fifty-foot ring. He slammed the book shut. In Harry's opinion, even the best sport in the Fast Diss World Cup could not appeal to him at the moment. He put "Flying with a Cannon" on the table next to his bed, walked to the window, opened the curtains, and looked at the street below.

On Saturday morning, Prry White Street still looks like a nice suburban street. All the curtains were closed, and there was no one in the darkness as far as Harry's eye could see, not even a cat.

But...... But...... Harry fidgeted and walked back to the bed, sat down, and touched the scar on his head with his fingers. It wasn't the pain that bothered him, Harry was no stranger to injuries and pains, the bones in his right arm were gone, and he had to endure the pain that grew back overnight. Soon after, the same right arm was pierced by fangs almost a foot long. Just last year it fell from a fifty-foot-tall flying broomstick. He had become accustomed to the strange accidents and injuries of the ancient world. As long as you get into Hogwatcher's wizarding school, there are ways to get into trouble, and these things are inevitable.

No, what upset Harry was the recent one, the scars stinging him. Maybe Fuldermor was once nearby...... But Fuldermant can't be here now...... The idea that Fuldermant was walking down Priewight Street is ridiculous and impossible......

Harry listened carefully in silence. He longed to hear the creaking of the stairs, he longed to hear the rustle of his coat. Then, when he heard the snoring of Dardey's cousin in the neighboring room, he jumped slightly.

Harry shook his body angrily, he was so stupid just now, there was no one else in the house except Uncle Veneng, Aunt Payounia, and Cousin Dadri, they were all still sleeping, undisturbed and in no pain.

Harry's favorite time for them was when they were asleep, and even if they woke up, it wouldn't help him, and the three of them were the only relatives Harry had in the world. None of them were wizards, they hated magic, they despised it, and Harry was certainly in their house. Harry wasn't here for the first three years, going to Hogwetcher school, and they explained to the neighbors that Harry went to the juvenile detention center in San Modo. They knew very well that an underage wizard was not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwatcher, but they would blame him if something went wrong with the house. Harry would never believe them, he wouldn't tell them about his life in the wizarding world, and it was ridiculous to go to them when they woke up and tell them about their scars and worry about Foldercoot.

However, it was because of Fourcoat that Harry had come to live with Dardery, and if it weren't for Fourmott, Harry wouldn't have the scars on his forehead, and if it weren't for Fourmott, Harry's parents would still be alive......

That night, Foulemort, the most powerful dark wizard of the century, ruled for eleven years, came to his house and killed his father and mother, when Harry was only a year old. Eventmut finally pointed his wand at Harry, and Fullmout was about to cast the same spell that had ruined many adult wizards and wizards, and had brought him step by step to the top of the power, but unbelievably the spell didn't work. Not only did he fail to kill Harry, but Fuldermant was also punished for it. Harry survived except for a thunderbolt-like scar on his forehead, while Fourmout was nearly wiped out. His strength was gone, his spirit was almost completely broken, and he fled. As a result, the fear in the wizarding community was gone, and the followers of Foldermant were scattered. Harry. Potter became famous.

On his eleventh birthday, Harry was now a wizard, which was surprising enough, and even more surprising was that his name was now known to everyone in the hidden wizarding world. Harry had been to Hogwache, and now everywhere he went, everyone turned their heads and whispered behind him. But now that we're used to it, this summer's fourth year at Hogwetcher will begin, and the days to return to the castle are numbered.

But there are still two weeks to go before school starts. He looked around for a moment, his eyes resting on the birthday card, which had been sent by his two best friends at the end of July. If you wrote to them about their scars, what would they say?

Right away, Holmian. Grindor's voice rang in his head, a harsh and alarmed voice.

"Does your scar hurt? Harry, that's really serious. Write to Professor Dan Bodeau.

I'm going to go to the general psychiatric department, maybe I can heal the scars left by the spell there......"

Yes, that would indeed be Homeynn's suggestion, go directly to Headmaster Hogwetcher and look for a book at the same time. Harry looked out at the blue and black sky, and he wondered if there was such a book that could help him. As far as he knew, he was the only wizard who escaped under Foldermott's curse. So it's almost impossible to find the listed pain symptoms in the general psychiatric department. As for telling the principal, I don't know where he went to entertain himself after the holidays. He sketched a picture of the headmaster: a long white beard, long wizard robes, a pointed hat, lying somewhere on the beach, rubbing sunscreen against his long, crooked nose. No matter where he was, Harry was sure that Havey would find him, that Harry's owl had not failed, and that it could always deliver letters to anyone, even without an address. But what does he write?

Dear Professor Danbodo, I'm sorry to bother you, but my scars sting this morning. You faithfully, Harry. Porter.

Even in his head, the words sounded silly and ridiculous.

So he tried to think about his other best friend, Ron. Wesley's reaction, and for a moment, Ron's long-nosed, pockmarked face seemed to float towards the ground, with a dull, confused expression.

"Do your scars hurt? but...... But isn't that 'man' unable to get close to you?

I mean...... You know, doesn't he? He probably wanted to kill you again, didn't he? I don't know, Harry, maybe the curse scar always hurts...... I'll ask my dad ......."

Mr. Wesley is a fully qualified wizard who works in the Ministry of Magic office, but has no specialized experience in curse matters. Either way, Harry didn't want the Wesley family tossing around for a few minutes of his sting. Mrs. Wesley would be worse than Homeyne had said, and Fried, George, Ron's sixteen-year-old twin brother, probably thinking Harry was nervous. The Wesley family was Harry's favourite. He hoped they would invite him to spend some time (Ron had already mentioned about the Rapid Dis World Cup), and he didn't want them to ask this and that because they were worried when he visited them.

Harry rubbed his forehead with his knuckles, what he really needed was someone like his parents (he felt a little shy), he needed an adult wizard to ask him and ask him for advice without feeling stupid, he needed someone who really cared about him, and he had experience in the dark arts, there was a way, it was too simple, too obvious, he couldn't believe it had taken so long to figure it out - to find Siris.

Harry jumped out of bed, walked to the other side of the room, took out a piece of parchment, filled the quill with ink, and wrote, "Dear Sirius" and stopped, not knowing how to write his question, he was still amazed at why he didn't think directly of Siris, but, perhaps, it wasn't all that surprising, after all, he had only discovered that Siris was his godfather two months earlier.

Siris has not made an appearance until now, for the simple reason that he has not yet appeared. He went to Azkban, the dreaded wizarding prison. When Siris escaped, the unseen, soul-sucking enemies came to Hogwaatcher to search for Siris, but Siris was innocent, and the murder he was falsely accused of was actually the work of Winter. But everyone believed that Wintel was dead, but Harry, Ron, and Homeion knew that he was not dead, because they had met face to face the year before, but only Professor Dan Bodo believed this.

For a moment, Harry believed he was finally leaving the Dadri house. Once Siris's reputation was lost, he promised to give Harry a home. But the opportunity was lost again, and Wintel escaped, unable to be escorted to the Ministry of Magic. Siris had to flee for his life again. Harry had helped Sirith escape. If it weren't for Wintel running away, Harry would have spent the summer in his own home. Since he thought he could leave the Dadri house for good, it really made him even more uncomfortable to come back.

However, Siris was very helpful to Harry, even when they weren't together. It is because of Siris that his bookcase is with him. The Dadri family had never allowed this before. Their general desire was to make Harry as miserable as possible. And they were afraid of Harry's power, and his bookcase was always locked in a tea cabinet under the stairs before coming here this summer.

Ever since they knew that Harry had a dangerous murderer as godfather, their attitude had completely changed. Harry forgot to tell them that Siris was innocent.

Harry had received two letters from Sirisna since he returned to Prrywhite Street. Both were not brought by owls (wizards usually use owls), but were delivered with large, brightly colored tropical birds. Haivy has not yet recognized these outsiders who have nothing to offer. She reluctantly let them drink from her tray before they flew away. Harry had taken a liking to them.

He wanted Siris to be happy, no matter where he was, in fact, it would be troublesome for him in case the letters were intercepted. Somehow, Harry now had a hard time imagining that Monte could live long in the sun, and perhaps that's why Siris went south. Siris's letter was hidden under the floor under the bed, and the floor was loose. The letters were earnest, and both reminded Harry to come to him if he had a problem. Oh, now is the time of need......

The cold gray light slowly crept into the room, and Harry's lamp seemed to be dimmed. At last, when the sun had risen, and the walls of the bedroom had turned golden, and the movement of Uncle and Aunt Payunia had been heard, Harry had come to his senses, and had cleared the parchment on the table, and read the finished letter again: "Dear Ciris, thank you for your recent letter, the bird was so big that it could barely fly through the window."

The situation is more or less the same as before. The food in Dadri is not very good. The aunt now got the doughnut into the room yesterday, and they said that if he didn't change it, they would cut his pocket money, so Dadri was furious and threw the game console out the window. It was a kind of computer that could play games, it was a bit stupid, and now he was no longer concentrating on things.

I'm fine, mainly because the Dadri family is scared and worried that you'll show up or I'll tell you to beat them up.

But something strange happened this morning. My scars hurt again. The last time it hurt was because Foulemut was in Hogwacher, but I don't think he's near me right now. Do you know that curse scars still hurt later?

I'm going to send this letter with Haivey, and now she's gone to hunt and hasn't come back yet. Please ask Bikebe on my behalf.

Harry: yes, Harry thought, that looks good. He didn't mention the dream, and he didn't want to make him look worried. He folded the parchment and set it aside for Heivey to return. Then he got up, stretched, opened the closet again, and this time without looking in the mirror, he began to get dressed and get ready to go down for breakfast.

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