Chapter 791

In the middle of the hottest summer day, a sleepy tranquility enveloped the large square houses on Privet Drive. Dusty cars, with their lights blazing, stop on yellow lawns that used to be green but now scorched - because rubber pipes are no longer allowed to be used for watering. Deprived of their usual pursuit of car washing and mowing, Privet Drive residents returned to their shady homes, with windows wide open in the hope that there would be no hope of a cool breeze.

Harry Potter's appearance is not liked by his neighbors who like to watch others being punished by law, but when he hides behind the hydrangea Bush tonight, passers-by will not see him.

In fact, he could only be found if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck his head out of the living room window and looked directly into the flower stand below.

On the whole, Harry was glad he was hiding here. He may not be very comfortable lying on this hot, hard ground, but on the other hand, no one here will notice his glare, grind their teeth so that he can hardly hear the news, or ask him some mean questions, which always happens when he wants to watch TV with his aunt and uncle in the living room.

It was almost as though such thoughts flew through the open window that Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, suddenly spoke.

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

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

Uncle Vernon muttered impatiently, "look at the news," he said sternly, "I want to know what he really wants to do, and a normal boy will care about what is said in the news - not like Dudley at all! He knew nothing; he doubted that he knew who the minister was now! Anyway, nothing about his group should be on our news -- "

" Shh, fenon, "Aunt Petunia said," the window is open! "

Dursley quieted down. Harry heard the jingle of a fruit breakfast basket, and he saw old lady Fogg, a strange cat loving lady on Wisteria Road, walking slowly towards her. Harry was very happy that he was hiding behind the Bush, for Mrs. Fogg had recently asked him to come to her for tea as soon as she saw him on the road.

She turned the corner and disappeared into sight.

Uncle Vernon's voice came again from the window.

"Is Dudley out for tea?"

"At the pockethers house," said Aunt Petunia fondly, "he has so many children that he's really likable."

Harry suppressed the laughter from his nostrils.

Dersley had a poor, stupid trust in their son, Dudley. They believed in the silly lie that Dudley went out every night for tea with different guys during the holidays.

Harry was very clear about the fact that Dudley wasn't going anywhere for tea. Dudley and his group went to the park every night to do damage, smoke on street corners, and throw stones at passing cars and children. Harry saw them while he was walking in little Wai King Road. He spent most of his holidays wandering the streets picking up newspapers from the garbage cans on the road.

The opening music of the seven o'clock news got into Harry's ears. There was a stir in his stomach.

"In the second week of the baggage Porter strike at the Spanish airport, a record number of helpless holidaymakers have filled the airport -"

"if it's me, I'll make them lose their jobs forever," he yelled as he heard the last words of the broadcaster. But anyway, outside the flower stand, Harry's heart seemed to be broken.

If anything happens, it will make headlines. Death and destruction are certainly more important than helpless holidaymakers.

slowly spit as like as two peas of air, staring at the glittering blue sky. This summer is the same as every day: tension, anticipation, short relaxation, and tension. Always, never stop, why didn't anything happen? He continued to listen in case there were little clues that Muggles would not really know - an unexplained disappearance, or perhaps, some strange accident.

But after the luggage operator strike, it was about the drought in the southeast.

Harry opened his eyes. There was no value left. He carefully raised his head and crawled on his knees and elbows, ready to climb out of the window.

Just as he had just moved two inches, something happened. There was a loud, shelling crackle that broke the peace of sleep. A cat ran restlessly out of a parked car and ran away. A scream and a curse roar came from Dursley's living room with the sound of broken China.

As if it was a signal he had been waiting for for, Harry jumped to his feet and pulled a stick out of his jeans belt, as if he had drawn a sword - but before he could get up, his head suddenly collided with the suddenly opened window of the Dursleys' house, which made Aunt Petunia's cry even louder.

Harry felt as if his head had been split in two. He swayed, his eyes dazzled, he tried to pay attention to the road, and recognized the source of the noise, but before he had time to stagger to his feet, a pair of large purplish purple hands reached out of the window and squeezed his throat tightly."Throw it away!" "Don't let anyone see it!" he yelled in his ear

"Let me go!" Harry gasped. They wrestled for a few seconds. Harry pushed his uncle's sausage like fingers with his left hand, and grasped his wand with his right hand. It was as if Harry's head had given him a terrible pain. Uncle Vernon cried out and let Harry go, as if he had been suddenly shocked.

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

Harry panted forward over the hydrangea bush, stood up and looked around.

There was no sign that anything was causing the noise, but some of the faces were peeking out of a nearby window. Harry quickly put his wand back into his trousers and made an innocent look.

"What a lovely night!" "Did you hear the car backfire?" Uncle Vernon called, waving to Mrs. 7 on the opposite door, who was looking out from the netted curtains at home? Let me and Penny startle

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

Harry took a few steps closer to him and stood carefully where Uncle Vernon couldn't reach out to strangle him.

"What the hell are you doing? Boy Uncle Vernon cried, his voice trembling with anger.

"What am I doing?" Harry said coldly, still looking around to find out who caused the noise.

"From the outside, I turned a racket at me like a gun..."

"I didn't make that sound!" Harry said firmly. Aunt Petunia's slender horse face appeared behind Uncle Vernon's broad purple face. She looks blue.

"Why were you lurking under our window just now?"

"Yes, yes, good question, penny. What were you doing under our window?"

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

"Listen to the news? Do you say that again? "

"You know, there are new changes every day." Said Harry.

"Don't think you're smart here! boy! What do you want to know? Don't tell me to listen to the news again. You know all about you -- "

" be careful, fenon! " Aunt Petunia whispered, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that Harry could hardly hear him. "You people don't listen to our news at all!"

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

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 the words from her mouth. "What's the owl doing? Why didn't you get the news?"

"Aha!" Uncle Vernon said, in a complacent whisper, "you hear me! Boy, do you think we don't know that you've got news from the plague birds Harry hesitated for a moment, and he had to admit it, even though his aunt and uncle didn't know how bad it felt to admit it.

"Owl - no news for me." He said dully.

"I don't believe it!" Aunt Petunia said at once. "Neither am I!" Said Uncle Vernon excitedly. "We know you're planning something weird." Said Aunt Petunia. "We are not stupid!" Said Uncle Vernon.

"That's news to me." Harry said his temper had come up too, and he ran away before Dursley could call him back. Through the front lawn, across the low flower wall, stride on the street.

He knew he was in trouble now, he knew he would face his aunt and uncle later and pay for his rudeness, but he didn't think so much now. There was something more urgent in his mind.

Harry was sure that the voice was made by someone organized or disorganized. It sounds like a homesick elf, more than when it disappears into the air. Is dobby in Privet Drive now? Would dobby follow him at such times? This shouldn't be ah, dobby was left at Hogwarts by Vaseline. If something really happened, fanin would come to him. Could it be Vaseline? According to Dumbledore, half of the holiday is now over

With this in mind, he looked around again and looked down Privet Drive, but there was nothing there. Harry was sure dobby didn't know how to be invisible, and that van Lin wasn't lurking. It was natural that he and Hermione were in Egypt.

He continued to walk aimlessly, let him walk these roads well. Every few steps he took, he looked back through his shoulders, and he was sure that there was something magical around him as he lay in Aunt Petunia's dead begonias. Why didn't they speak to him? Why didn't you contact him? Why are they still hiding. Then, his sense of almost frustration frustrated him. Maybe there's no magic at all. Maybe he was so eager to find even the smallest things about his world that now he is too sensitive to a little noise.Was he sure it wasn't the sound of something breaking in the neighborhood? Harry felt a dull and heavy feeling in his stomach, and he knew that this hopeless feeling had tormented him many times this summer.

Tomorrow morning he'll go up with the five o'clock alarm to pay for the owl who brought him the prophet's Daily - but what's new? Harry just glances at the front page these days and throws the newspaper aside. Only the stupid man who ran the newspaper realized that Voldemort had returned and made it a front page headline would have interested Harry.

If he's lucky enough to receive an owl from his good friend Ron, Egypt is so far away that he can't expect any more from vaseline and Hermione.

Although he wanted Ron or Sirius to tell him something, he couldn't.

We can't tell you about the mystery man. Obviously, we're 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, it'll be clear, we'll tell you everything when we meet - but when will they see him?

No one has given an exact date.

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

Or does Dumbledore think Ron they can understand better than he does?

Harry has told himself for the nth time this summer not to think that way. It's bad enough for him to revisit in his dream, to wander aimlessly, and not to have a place to live.

He took a turn around the corner to crescent Mulan street. He met his godfather for the first time, right on the side of the garage halfway down the narrow lane.

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

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

I know it disappoints you. Take care of yourself. Don't meddle. Things will get better. Be careful and don't act rashly

Well, Harry thought, he was walking across crescent Mulan street, up Mulan Road, and heading for the ANHEI Sports Park, and he had done (or even surpassed) what Sirius had suggested to him.

He had tried to restrain his own thoughts on the broom.

In fact, he felt that his actions had made him feel frustrated and angry: he had been stuck in Privet Drive for so long, hiding under the flower bed, hoping to hear a little about what Voldemort was doing, and little by little, his hopes of hearing about what Voldemort was doing were diminishing.

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

As he walked across the swing, he sat down on the only swing that had not 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 Dursleys' garden.

Tomorrow he has to think of some new way to listen to the news. At the same time, he will have a night that is not worth looking forward to, not calm, disturbed.

Through the long, dark hallway, with locked doors at the end, he felt trapped when he was awake. His scars often tingle, but he thought it would no longer interest Ron, Hermione or Sirius. Maybe van Lin would, but it doesn't seem surprising.

In the past, his scar pain was a warning to Voldemort that he was strong again. Now that Voldemort has come back to life, they may only tell him that it was the result of frequent anger - no worries - and the old saying.

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