0413 The Last Day

0413 The Last Day

The Last Day of July

The relentless heatwave that had gripped the area for the past fortnight reached its peak on this scorching day, the final one of July.

The scorching temperature caused the beautiful lush raspberries in the garden outside Number Four, Privet Drive to droop their heads listlessly. Even the lush green grass on the lawn had taken on a yellowish tinge.

Despite the suffocating heat, the road outside remained impeccably clean, as though even the dust dared not settle on its surface. The air shimmered slightly, creating an almost mirage-like quality to the deserted street. Not a single soul ventured out into this furnace-like day; the residents of Privet Drive had wisely retreated into the sanctuary of their air-conditioned homes, leaving the outside world to bake in eerie silence.

Within the stifling confines of his small bedroom at Number Four, Harry lay sprawled on his bed, feeling as wilted as the plants outside. Though he hadn't caught sight of his reflection in a mirror, he was certain his spirits must be as low as the drooping flowers in the Dursleys' garden. The cause of his wasn't solely attributed to the fact that the blazing sun had rudely awakened him well before six in the morning. No, there was another reason, one that he found difficult to express even to himself – today was his birthday.

For the first eleven years of his life, prior to his life in Hogwarts, this supposedly special day had held no real significance for Harry. The Dursleys, his only living relatives, had never once acknowledged the occasion. In fact, it often seemed as though they got a perverse pleasure from assigning him extra chores on this day, as if to emphasize just how little he meant to them and how insignificant his existence was in their eyes.

However, the past three years since his entry into Hogwarts, his birthday had finally gained some semblance of meaning and joy. His best friends, Ron and Hermione, along with Hagrid, never failed to remember the date. They took great care in preparing something special for him, be it heartfelt cards, thoughtful gifts, or in Hagrid's case, a somewhat questionable but undeniably well-intentioned cake.

This year was no exception. A collection of birthday cakes, cards, and carefully wrapped presents had already arrived, buried away under a loose floorboard in his room.

This year was even more special because earlier in the year, something he had dreamed of for fourteen years had finally come true—he now had a real family member.

Just a few days ago, Sirius, who had been missing for half a month, had finally sent word. In his reply to Harry, he said he would arrive at Privet Drive before the last day of July to take him away from this house.

Since receiving that letter, Harry had been consumed by eager anticipation. His mind constantly wandered to vivid daydreams of celebrating his fourteenth birthday surrounded by warmth and genuine affection – with Sirius and the loving Weasley family. However, as the hours of his birthday ticked by with no sign of his godfather, a creeping sense of disappointment began to take hold.

Despite his unwavering emotional faith in Sirius– the harsh reality of the situation was beginning to weigh heavily on his heart. As much as he tried to rationalize the delay, to conjure up plausible explanations for Sirius's absence, he couldn't help but feel a bit disheartened.

The ancient clock on Harry's bedside table, a hand-me-down from Dudley like everything else in his possession, showed it was approaching half-past eleven. It was going to be Lunchtime, yet the usual shout from Uncle Vernon summoning him to the dining room remained conspicuously absent.

Harry knew, however, that if he didn't make an appearance downstairs within the next ten minutes, Aunt Petunia would invariably materialize outside his door. With cat's steps, she would approach, leaving a plate of food. A timid knock would follow, and before Harry could even respond, she would hastily retreat, leaving the meal as though it were an offering to appease some temperamental deity.

Sigh—

A deep, weary sigh escaped Harry's lips as he surveyed his messy room. Clothes lay strewn about, spell books were piled haphazardly on his desk, and owl droppings from Hedwig dotted the floor near her cage. With great reluctance, he hauled himself off the bed and trudged towards the door slowly.

Years of living under the Dursley's roof had conditioned Harry to instinctively brace himself, expecting Uncle Vernon to roar at him for his unannounced appearance. Indeed, Uncle Vernon's face contorted with fury, his complexion shifting rapidly from red to purple. But then... nothing happened.

The small dispute in the kitchen quickly dissipated under the tacit understanding of the Dursley family. Aunt Petunia, her hands trembling slightly, swiftly brought the food to the table. Dudley, intimidated by Harry's presence, stopped his tantrum and lowered his head, suddenly finding great interest in carefully dissecting his sausages. Uncle Vernon, after muttering "What a sight" under his breath, also began attacking his food with knife and fork, avoiding eye contact with his nephew. Just like that, they had reverted to ignoring him again.

The familiar impulse that had been welling up in Harry's heart frequently this summer surged once more. He could feel the magic thrumming beneath his skin, responding to his turbulent emotions. His face turned ashen, jaw clenched tightly as his chest heaved with rapid breaths. He found himself desperately resisting the temptation to pull out his wand and give Dudley another pig's tail, or perhaps make antennas sprout from Aunt Petunia's forehead.

Just as Harry's internal struggle reached its peak, the shrill sound of the doorbell pierced the tense atmosphere.

In past, Uncle Vernon would have immediately roared, "Go answer the door, boy!" But today, he laboriously hauled himself up from his chair and waddled towards the hallway himself, muttering under his breath about unexpected visitors and the inconvenience of it all.

Regardless of the change in routine, Harry knew he couldn't let the dark thoughts swirling in his mind manifest into reality. If he stayed in this charged environment any longer, he was certain the Ministry of Magic would be sending him another stern warning about underage wizards using magic without permission. He cast a fleeting glance at the food allocated to him on the kitchen counter but made no move to take it. Instead, he turned directly towards the stairs.

However, just as he placed one foot on the bottom step, a roar of fear and anger suddenly erupted from the hallway!

It was Uncle Vernon!

The sudden outburst froze Dudley and Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, their forks suspended midway to their mouths. Harry, after a brief moment of shock, quickly regained his senses. Professor Watson's rigorous physical education classes had honed Harry's reflexes and agility. Without a second thought, his right hand lightly touched the handrail, and with a slight push, he effortlessly vaulted over it.

Before Harry could rush towards the source of the commotion, a terrified Uncle Vernon came charging down the hallway like an out-of-control bull, his face a mask of pure panic. "Hide quickly, Petunia, Dudley!" he roared, eyes wild with fear. "It's that murderer!"

The front door stood wide open, allowing the dazzling midday sunlight to flood the entryway. Silhouetted against this brilliant backdrop were two human figures, their features momentarily obscured by the intense light.

Harry's heart raced wildly, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins. Amidst the subsequent terrified screams of Aunt Petunia and the whimpering of Dudley, Harry felt as if he'd been jolted by electricity.

Step by step, he walked towards the hallway.

As his eyes finally adjusted to the intense light, the faces of the two figures standing in the interplay of light and shadow became clear. A grin of pure joy spread across Harry's face.

"Sirius, Professor Lupin!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of relief, excitement, and sheer happiness. At last, his birthday was about to take a turn for the better.

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