Halfway through the hottest days of summer, a drowsy tranquility enveloped the large square house of Privet Road. Dusty cars parked with their lights on the once-verdant yellow lawns that had now become charred – because rubber hoses were no longer allowed for watering. Deprived of their usual pursuit of car washing and mowing the lawn, the residents of Privet Road returned to their shady houses, windows wide open for a hopeless cool breeze.

Harry Potter's appearance was not liked by his neighbors who liked to see others being brought to justice, but when he hid behind a hydrangea bush tonight, passers-by couldn't see him.

In fact, he could only be spotted when his Aunt Fernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living room window and looked directly into the flower stands below.

Overall, Harry was glad he was hiding here. He may not be comfortable lying on this hot, hard earth, but on the other hand, no one here will notice his glare and the sound of grinding their teeth makes him scarcely hear the news, or ask him the vile questions that always happen every time he wants to watch television with his aunt and uncle in the living room.

Almost as if such a thought flew into the open window of Harry's uncle, Fernon Desley suddenly spoke.

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

"I don't know," Aunt Petunia said carelessly, "not in the house anyway"

Aunt Fernon muttered impatiently, "Look at the news," he said sternly, "I wonder what he wants to do, a normal boy would care about what is said on the news—not at all like Dudley! He doesn't know anything, and I wonder if he knows who the current minister is—Anyway, nothing in his group is supposed to be on our news—"

"Shhh

Dursley fell silent. Harry heard the jingle of the fruit breakfast basket, and he happened to see Old Lady Fogg, a weird old cat lover lady from Wisteria Road, who was slowly strolling over Harry was glad that he was now hiding behind a bush, for he had recently been called to her for tea as soon as he had seen him on the road.

She turned around the corner and disappeared from sight.

Aunt Fenon's voice drifted through the window again.

"Did Dudley go out for tea?"

"At the Perco Cathes," Aunt Petunia said dotingly, "he has so many children, and he is a very pleasant person." ”

Harry suppressed the laughter that came out of his nostrils.

What a pitiful trust in their son, Dudley, is stupid. They were convinced of the foolish lie that Dudley would go out for tea with different guys every night during the holidays.

Harry was well aware that Dudley wasn't going anywhere for tea. Dudley and his gang went to the park every night to wreak havoc, smoke on street corners, and throw rocks at passing cars and children. Harry saw them as he walked along the Little Wai Kim Road. He spends most of his holidays wandering the streets, picking up newspapers from the trash cans on the road to read.

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

"After the second week of the strike movement of baggage handlers at Spanish airports, a record number of helpless holidaymakers have filled the entire airport—"

"If it's me, I'll make them lose their jobs forever," Uncle Fei Nong roared when he heard the last words of the announcer. But no matter what, outside the flower stand, Harry's heart seemed to be pried open.

If something does happen, it will make headlines, and death and destruction will of course be more important than helpless holidaymakers.

He let out a long breath slowly, staring at the dazzling blue sky, every day of this summer is exactly the same: nervousness, anticipation, short relaxation, and nervousness... Always, never stopped, why didn't anything happen?, he continued to listen, in case there were some small clues that the Muggles wouldn't really recognize—an unexplained disappearance, or perhaps, some strange accident.

But the baggage operator strike was followed by a drought in the southeast.

Harry opened his eyes, there was no value left here, he looked up cautiously, and crawled forward on his knees and elbows, ready to climb out from under the window.

He had just moved two inches when something suddenly happened. A loud crackling roar like the sound of shelling broke the sleep-like silence as a cat uneasily ran out from under a parked car and sped away, a scream, and a cursed roar came from Dursley's drawing-room.

As if it were the signal he had been waiting for, Harry jumped to his feet and pulled a wooden stick from the waistband of his jeans as if he had drawn a sword—but before he could stand up, the top of his head suddenly collided with the suddenly open window of the Dursleys, causing Aunt Petunia to scream even louder.

Harry felt as if his head had been split in half. He swayed, his eyes glazed, trying to keep an eye on his way and make out the source of the noise, but before he could stagger to his feet, a pair of large purple hands reached out of the window and clenched his throat tightly.

"Throw it away!" roared Aunt Fernon in his ear, "Don't let anyone see it!"

"Let go of me!" Harry said breathlessly, and they scuffled for a few seconds, Harry pushed his uncle's sausage-like fingers with his left hand as hard as he could, and his right hand gripped his wand as if the top of Harry's head had given him a particularly uncomfortable blow, and Aunt Fernon let go of Harry with a scream of pain, as if he had been suddenly electrocuted.

An invisible force was released from his nephew, making it impossible for him to grasp it.

Harry panted and rolled forward over the hydrangea bushes, standing up straight and looking around.

There was no indication of anything causing the noise, but there were some faces peeking out of a nearby window. Harry hurriedly slipped his wand back into his waistband and made an innocent expression.

"What a lovely night!" called Aunt Fenon, waving to Mrs. 7 across the door, who was looking out of the net curtains in the house, "Did you hear the car backfire just now?

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

Harry took a few steps closer to him, carefully standing out of his grip on Aunt Fenon, in case he reached out and strangled him to death.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?" cried Aunt Fenon, her voice trembling with anger.

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

"Got a racket from the outside and pointed it at me like a gun......"

"I didn't make that sound!" said Harry, firmly. Aunt Penny's lanky horse face appears behind Aunt Fenon's broad purple face. She looked very blue-faced.

"Why did you lurk under our windows just now?"

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

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

"Listen to the news?

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

"Don't think you're smart to me, boy, I want to know what you're trying to do? Stop telling me to listen to the news and talk nonsense. You know very well that you guys—"

"Be careful, Fenon!" Aunt Penny whispered, and Uncle Fennon lowered her voice so Harry could barely hear what he was saying, "You guys won't listen to our news at all!"

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

Dursley stared at him for a few seconds, and then Aunt Petunia said, "You nasty little liar, those," and he lowered his voice so that Harry could only make out some of the latter words from the way she spoke, "What is the owl doing, why didn't it bring you the news?"

"Aha!" said Aunt Fernon in a smug whisper, "Hear me, boy, do you think we don't know you got news from those pestilences?" Harry hesitated for a moment that he had to admit the fact, though his aunt and uncle didn't know how bad it felt for him to admit it.

"Owl - didn't bring me any news. He said sullenly.

"I don't believe it!" said Aunt Petunia at once. "Me neither!" said Aunt Fernon excitedly. "We know you're planning something weird. Aunt Penny said. "We're not stupid!" said Aunt Fennon.

"For me, that's news. Harry said that his temper had also come up, and that he had run away before Dursley could call him back. Across the front lawn, over the low flower wall, strode out into the street.

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

Harry was sure that the voice was made by a person, organized or unorganized. It sounds like the house-elf Dobby when he disappears from the air. Could it be that Dobby is on Privet Road now? Will Dobby follow him at such a time? This shouldn't be, Dobby was left at Hogwarts by Van Lin, if something really happens, Van Lin will definitely come to him, will it be Van Lin? According to Dumbledore, the holiday is now halfway over......

With this in mind, he looked around again, and then followed the privet road, but there was nothing there, and Harry was sure that Dobby didn't know how to be invisible, and that Van Lin wasn't lurking, and that it was natural that he and Hermione were in Egypt.

He continued to walk aimlessly, so that he knew all these paths well. With every few steps he looked back over his shoulder, convinced that something magical was near him as he lay among Aunt Penny's dead begonias. Why didn't they speak to him, why didn't they make contact with him, why are they still hiding? Then, the feeling of his almost frustration discouraged him. Maybe there's no magic at all. Maybe he's so desperate to find even the tiniest things about his world that he's too sensitive to even the slightest sound now.

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

Tomorrow morning he would wake up with the 5 o'clock alarm in order to pay the owl who brought him the Daily Prophet - but would there be any new news? Harry tossed the newspaper aside with just one glance at the front page these days. Only if the idiot who ran the newspaper realized that Voldemort had returned, and made a front-page headline, that was what Harry was interested in.

If he's lucky, he'll receive an owl from his buddy Ron, Egypt is too far away to count on Van Lin and Hermione.

As much as he hoped that Ron or Sirius would tell him something, he couldn't.

We can't tell you about the mystery man, obviously, being told not to do this in case our owl falls into the hands of someone else, we're busy but we can't tell you the details here, things will be clear, we'll tell you everything when we meet - but when will they meet him?

No one told an exact date.

Ron scribbled on his birthday card that I hope to see you soon, but when?

Or did Dumbledore think Ron was better informed than he was?

For the Nth time this summer, Harry had told himself not to think like that. It's bad enough that he's wandering in his dreams again, and wandering aimlessly, and it's bad enough that he doesn't have a place to stay.

He turned a corner and came to Crescent Mulan Street. It was right next to the garage halfway down that narrow alley that he met his godfather for the first time.

Sirius, at least, seemed to understand Harry's feelings.

Admittedly, his letter said nothing, like Ron's, but at least there were some comforting warnings that felt much better than the anxious clues.

I know this disappoints you, take care of yourself, don't meddle with things, things will be fine, be careful and don't make any rash moves......

Well, Harry thought, as he was crossing Crescent Mulan Street, walking up Mulan Road, and then towards the Ann Black Athletic Park, where he had (and even exceeded) what Sirius had advised him to do.

He had done his best to suppress the idea of strapping his luggage to his broom and setting off for the Burrow himself.

In fact, he felt that his actions had already made him feel frustrated and angry: he had been trapped in the privet road for so long, hiding under the flower beds in the hope of hearing a little about what Voldemort was doing.

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

As he walked over the swing, he sat down on the only swing that hadn't been destroyed by Dudley and his gang, one arm coiled around the chain, looking angrily at the ground. He could no longer hide under the Dursley's flower garden.

Tomorrow he'll have to come up with something new to listen to the news. At the same time, he will have a night that is not at all worth looking forward to, not quiet, disturbed.

Walking through long, dark hallways, and finally locked doors, gave him a feeling of being trapped while he was awake. His scars were often tingling, but he didn't think it would interest Ron, Hermione, or Sirius, maybe Van Lin would, but it didn't seem unexpected.

In the past, his scars were a warning that Voldemort was getting stronger again, and now that Voldemort had come back to life, they might just tell him that it was just a constant anger — nothing to worry about — and the old story.