HP Magic Biography

The hottest day of summer was only halfway through, and a sleepy stillness hung over the big square houses of Privet Drive. Dusty cars with flashing lights sit on lawns that were once emerald green and now scorched yellow because rubber hoses are no longer allowed to be used for watering. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the residents of Privet Drive retreated to their shady houses, windows wide open for the hopeless breeze of coolness.

Harry Potter's appearance wasn't much appreciated by his neighbors who liked to watch others be brought to justice, but when he hid behind a hydrangea bush this evening, he was out of sight for passers-by.

In fact, he could only be spotted if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia poked their heads out of the living room window and looked directly into the planter below.

Overall, Harry was glad he was hiding here. He may not be very comfortable lying on the hot, hard ground, but on the other hand, no one here finds him dazzling, and the sound of grinding their teeth makes him barely hear the news, Or ask him the nasty questions that always happen every time he wants to watch TV with his aunts and uncles in the living room.

Almost as though the thought had flown through the open window, Harry's uncle, Fernon Dursley, spoke suddenly.

It's a good thing the kid didn't come in again. But where is he now?

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

Uncle Vernon muttered impatiently Look at the news, he said sternly, I wonder what the hell he's up to, a normal boy would care about what's on the news - not at all like Dar Power! He doesn't know anything; it's almost doubtful that he even knows who the current minister is! Anyway, nothing about his group should be on our news—

Shh, Vernon, said Aunt Petunia, the window is open!

Dursley fell silent. Harry heard the jingle of a fruit breakfast basket, and he happened to see old Mrs. Fogg, an eccentric cat-loving old lady from Wisteria Lane, strolling slowly up. Harry was glad he was hiding behind a bush now. Yes, for Mrs. Fogg, whenever she saw him on the road, had lately sent him to her for tea.

She turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

Uncle Vernon's voice floated through the window again.

Has Dudley gone out for tea?

At Poco Cathers', said Aunt Petunia dotingly, he's got so many little friends, he's a real delight.

Harry stifled a laugh that escaped his nostrils.

Dursley was such a foolish, pathetic trust in their son Dudley. They believed the foolish lie that Dudley went out for tea with different guys every night during the holidays.

Harry was well aware that Dudley hadn't gone anywhere for tea. Dudley and his gang wreak havoc in the park every night, smoking on street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. Harry had seen them on his walk in Little Waikin Road. He spends most of his holidays wandering the streets, reading newspapers from trash cans on the road.

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

As baggage handlers strike at Spanish airports enters second week, record numbers of helpless holidaymakers fill airports—

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

If something did happen, it would grab the headlines. Death and destruction would certainly be more important than helpless vacationers.

He let out a long breath slowly, staring at the dazzling blue sky, every day in this summer is exactly the same: tension, anticipation, brief relaxation, tension again... always, never stop, why nothing happened ? He kept listening in case there were some small clues that Muggles wouldn't really recognize - an unexplained disappearance, or maybe, some strange accident.

But after the baggage handlers strike it was about the drought in the southeast.

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 crawl out from under the window.

Just as he moved two inches, suddenly something happened. A loud crackling growl like the sound of shelling breaks the sleepy stillness A cat runs restlessly from under a parked car and then gallops out of sight, a screech, and a cursed growl From the Dursley's living room came the sound of china breaking.

As if this was the signal he'd been waiting for, Harry leaped to his feet, drawing a wooden club from the waistband of his jeans at the same time as if he were drawing a sword - but before he could Before he could stand up, the top of his head collided with the suddenly opened window of the Dursleys', and the impact made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.

Harry felt as if his head had been split in half. He wobbled, his eyes dazzled, trying to keep his eyes on the road and make out the source of the noise, but before he could stagger to his feet, a pair of huge maroon hands reached out from the window and squeezed tightly around his throat. .

Throw it away! Uncle Vernon yelled in his ear, Keep it out of sight!

Let me go! gasped Harry, and they wrestled for a few seconds, Harry pushing his uncle's sausage fingers as far as he could with his left hand, and his right gripping his wand as if the top of Harry's head had He was a particularly uncomfortable one, and Uncle Vernon let go of Harry, screaming in pain, as if he had been electrocuted.

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

Panting, Harry rolled forward over the hydrangea bushes, straightened and looked around.

There was no indication that anything was causing the noise, but there were faces peeking out from nearby windows. Harry hastily slipped his wand back into his trousers, and made an innocent face.

What a lovely night! cried Uncle Vernon, waving to Mrs. Seven, who was looking out through the netted curtains of the house, Did you hear the backfiring just now? It scared Petunia and me. One jump!

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

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

What the hell are you talking about, boy? Uncle Vernon yelled, his voice trembling with anger.

What the hell am I doing? said Harry grimly, still looking around, trying to figure out who had caused the noise.

Throw a racket at me like a gun from the outside...

I didn't make that noise! Harry said firmly. Aunt Petunia's lanky horse 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, Petunia, what were you doing under our window?

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

Listen to the news? You say it again?

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

Don't think you're smart on my part! Boy! I want to know what the hell you're up to? Stop telling me to listen to the news. You know you guys—

Careful, Vernon! Aunt Petunia whispered, so Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so Harry could barely hear him, You people won't listen to our news!

That's just what you know, Harry said.

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

Aha! said Uncle Vernon in a smug whisper, you hear me! Boy, do you think we don't know you got news from those plague birds? Harry hesitated for a moment and had to admit it. Truth, though his aunts and uncles had no idea how bad it felt for him to admit it.

The owl—brings me no news, he said dully.

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

That's news to me, said Harry, his temper rising too, and he ran off before Dursley had time to call him back. Cross the front lawn, step over the low flower wall, and stride up the street.

He knows he's in trouble now, he knows he'll have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay for his rudeness, but he doesn't want to think about it that much right now, he has more urgent things on his mind.

Harry was sure the sound was made by someone, organized or not. Sounds like Dobby the house-elf when he vanishes from thin air. Is Dobby on Privet Drive now? Would Dobby follow him at a time like this? This shouldn't be, Dobby was left at Hogwarts by Fan Lin, if something really happened, Fan Lin would definitely come to him, could it be Fan Lin? According to Dumbledore, half of the holidays are now over...

With this in mind, 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 sure that Fan Lin wasn't lurking aside, it was only natural Thing, he and Hermione were in Egypt.

He continued to walk aimlessly, making him familiar with all these roads. He looked over his shoulder every few steps, sure 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 now. Then, he was deflated by a feeling of almost defeat. Maybe there is no such thing as magic at all. Maybe he wanted to find out even the smallest things about his world so much that he was now too sensitive to the slightest sound.

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

Tomorrow morning he'd wake up with an alarm at 5 o'clock to pay the owl who brought him the Daily Prophet - but would there be any news? Harry barely glanced at the front page these days before tossing the paper aside. Only the idiot who ran the newspaper realized Voldemort was back and made it a front page headline, and that was what Harry was interested in.

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

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

We can't tell you about You-Know-Who, obviously, being told not to do this in case our owl falls into someone else's hands, we're busy but we can't tell you the details here, things will clear up, we'll tell when we meet You all things - but when will they see him?

No one has told an exact date.

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

Or did Dumbledore think Ron and the others could understand the situation better than him?

For the nth time this summer, Harry told himself not to think that way. It was bad enough that he revisited purpose in his dreams, and wandering aimlessly without a place to rest was bad enough.

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

Sirius, at least, seemed to understand how Harry felt.

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

I know this disappoints you, take care of yourself, don't mind your own business, things will get better, be careful and don't do anything rash...

Well, thought Harry, as he was crossing Magnolia Crescent Street, onto Magnolia Road, and heading for Anhei Sports Park, he had done (or even surpassed) what Sirius suggested to him.

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

In fact, he felt that his behavior had made him feel very frustrated and angry: he had been stuck in Privet Drive for so long, hiding under the flowerbed in the hope of hearing a little bit about what Voldemort was doing. 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 one that hadn't been destroyed by Dudley and his gang, with one arm coiled around the chain, looking angrily at the ground. He could no longer hide under the Dursleys' flower beds.

Tomorrow he'd have to figure out some new way of listening to the news. At the same time, he would have another restless, disturbed night that was not at all worth looking forward to.

Walking through long, dark corridors that ended up with locked doors gave him a sense of being trapped during his waking hours. His scars also often tingled, but he didn't think this would interest Ron, Hermione, or Sirius anymore. Maybe Fan Lin would be more interested, but this didn't seem surprising.

In the past, the pain in his scar was a warning that Voldemort was strong again, and now that Voldemort was alive, they might just tell him that it was just constant anger - nothing to worry about - old saying again.