Harry lay stiffly in bed, panting heavily as if he had been running non-stop.
He awoke from an incredibly vivid dream, his dry pupils slightly swollen, and on his forehead, the lightning-shaped scar burned hotly, sending signals of pain to his brain, as if someone was pressing a hot wire into his wound.
The boy sat up in bed, one hand covering his scar, the other groping in the dark for the glasses on his bedside table.
He put on his glasses, and the objects in the bedroom gradually came into focus. The streetlights outside emitted a faint glow through the curtains, casting a hazy orange-red soft light over the room.
Harry touched the scar with his fingers again, and it still hurt intensely.
He turned on the lamp beside him, got out of bed barefoot and crossed the room to open the wardrobe, looking into the mirror on the inside of the door.
In the mirror, a tall, thin fourteen-year-old boy was staring back at him. Beneath a mop of messy black hair was a pair of green, fear-filled, and confused eyes. Harry leaned closer to examine the scar on his forehead in the mirror more carefully; there was nothing visibly wrong, yet it still throbbed with pain.
Harry strained to recall the scenes from the "dream" earlier—everything felt so realistic…he had seemingly become a snake, slithering out of a brightly lit room, "preying" on a Muggle man on the street; that man was holding a pair of pliers, and before being swallowed, he struck "Harry" on the head with them—
Could that be the source of the pain?
Harry's mind was a bit muddled, unable to comprehend, just as he couldn't make sense of the scenes from the dream—who was that man? Why was Voldemort with him? Where are they now? What are they plotting? Who was that shattered man?
Harry buried his face in his hands in distress, trying not to look at his surroundings, desperately immersing himself in that room. Yet, attempting to grasp those memories was like trying to cup water in his hands—the harder he tried to hold onto the "water," the faster it slipped through his fingers.
He couldn't even remember the young man's appearance anymore; what was his name again?
Harry lifted his face from his hands, opened his eyes wide, and began to scan the room with intensity, as if he could see something unusual.
Indeed, the room was packed with unusual things.
"Hoo-hoo."
Sitting atop the wardrobe, Hedwig seemed to sense Harry's restless mood and softly hooted before fluttering down to rest on his shoulder without piercing through his pajamas with her claws. She pressed her wing against the back of his neck as if to comfort him.
"You're back."
Harry rubbed his aching scar. Every night, he would let Hedwig out the window to hunt on her own, as Aunt Petunia wouldn't be so kind as to prepare food for Harry's "Magic Owl," and it was lucky that even Harry himself could get enough to eat.
Ever since Uncle Vernon received a letter from Smeltings Academy's nurse stating that Dudley had grown so fat he couldn't fit into his trousers anymore, Aunt Petunia had tearfully implemented the Dursleys' "new dietary regime"—
Meanwhile, to appease Dudley's mood, Harry was now allotted only a slice of grape bread or a stick of carrot no larger than his palm for each meal.
Fortunately, the boy turned around, lifted a loose floorboard beneath his feet, revealing a small space stuffed with rations sent by his friends, like Hermione's big box of sugar-free biscuits, Ron's large pie and cake, and Neville's some bread…
And Hagrid's rock cakes.
Those were the most useful; Harry used them to build a sturdy "wall" around the other food to prevent rats from stealing his stash.
Even if the rats could gnaw through the floor, they couldn't breach Hagrid's rock cakes.
This is what you call reputation!
Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled out a large cake from the stash, offering it first to Hedwig at her beak, but since she had apparently found plenty to eat on her own that night, she turned her head away. Harry nodded and began devouring it himself.
The sweet cream, preserved by magic, hadn't spoiled over time, and Harry contentedly swallowed the entire cake, licking the creamy residue off his fingers. He looked out the window as the sky began to lighten.
"..."
Gazing at the purple hue creeping over the horizon, Harry remained silent for a long time until the first rays of dawn pierced the sky, painting the bedroom walls golden. Finally, he pulled over a sheet of parchment, dipping a quill in ink, and began to write—
"Dear Sirius,
"I haven't received a letter from you in half a month. I wonder where your travels have taken you now.
"Not much has changed with the Dursleys. Dudley's diet plan isn't going well. Yesterday, Aunt found his stash of doughnuts in his room, and they had a huge fight, breaking Dudley's third game console—a kind of computer on which Muggles play video games…
"I'm doing fine, mostly because the Dursleys are terrified that if I so much as utter a word, you'll suddenly appear and turn them all into bats.
"Besides, today is my birthday, and I should receive quite a few presents. I hope Uncle Vernon doesn't chase away the owls.
"Harry"
Reading the whole letter again, Harry was satisfied and slipped it into an envelope. Then, he pulled over another sheet of parchment, dabbed it with ink—
"Dear William,
"I've had another nightmare, one about Voldemort. I saw a lot in the dream, but…some details are fuzzy. Maybe you have a way to make me dream it again? Or make me remember something?
"Also, my scar has been hurting since I woke up, making me a bit scared that Voldemort might be hiding right under my house…
"Well, I hope to get a reply.
"Harry"
After packing both letters, Harry placed Hedwig on his lap, carefully introducing everything to her. Under Hedwig's silent gaze, the boy tied the two letters to her leg and then released her out the window—
Then the boy stood up, stretched, and opened the wardrobe once more. This time, without checking the mirror, he directly got dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast.
So, the boy didn't notice that Hedwig hadn't actually flown far but was flapping her wings towards the house opposite the Dursleys'.
"Hoot hoot—"
The white owl landed on the window, then was pulled into the room by a hand supporting its bottom.
…
When Harry arrived in the kitchen, the Dursley family was already seated around the dining table.
Harry sat down, and no one even glanced at him. Uncle Vernon's big red face was hidden behind the morning delivery of The Daily Mail, while Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into four parts, her lips puckered high to cover her long, horse-like teeth.
Across from Uncle Vernon, Dudley wore a sullen, chubby face, looking grumpy, occupying seemingly more space than usual. This was quite interesting, as he always managed to fill one side of the square table by himself.
Soon, Aunt Petunia placed a quarter of the unsweetened grapefruit into Dudley's plate, saying in a trembling voice, "Eat up, dear."
Harry's piece was even smaller than Dudley's, but the boy, already full, had no complaints. He quickly stuffed the grapefruit into his mouth. The dry feeling made him instinctively take a sip of water before swallowing it.
"Cough cough—"
The boy coughed once, and the next moment, the doorbell rang.
The four at the dining table exchanged glances for a long time before Uncle Vernon finally struggled to stand up and walked towards the hallway. Seizing the moment when his mom was busy with the nearly boiling kettle, Dudley quickly swiped the grapefruit from Uncle Vernon's plate.
Harry, curious, perked up his ears. He heard voices at the door, followed by Uncle Vernon's utterly shocked voice, "You! How did you find me…"
"?"
Dudley stopped chewing, and the three around the table instinctively turned their heads, but all they saw was Uncle Vernon, with his broad backside, blocking everyone's view, making it impossible for them to see who was at the door.
But the next moment, a voice Harry knew all too well rang out at the door, "Excuse me, I'm here to take Harry."
"No way, I won't let you take—Wait, you're taking that little brat?"
"What else? Are you going to duel with me?"
Sirius's voice was tinged with impatience. Looking at the wall-like figure of Vernon Dursley, he said irritably, while his hand was already reaching for his wand, as if ready to cast an Evil Curse if Vernon even slightly nodded.
"Impossible! You, quickly! Quickly put that thing away!"
Vernon's neck turned red as he looked at the stick in Sirius's hand, as if he were seeing Churchill's nude photo, incredulous. He wanted to shout but instinctively lowered his voice, "That little brat will follow you immediately! You are not to use those tricks in my house!"
"Sirius!"
Harry's voice was filled with delight as he struggled to squeeze past Uncle Vernon, stepping in front of Sirius.
"Happy Birthday, Harry! Quickly pack your things, and I'll take you away."
Wearing sunglasses, Sirius patted the boy on the shoulder and said.
"Okay!" The boy nodded excitedly.
When Harry carried his luggage and owl cage downstairs, Sirius was standing in the foyer, boredly counting his fingers. On the other side of the living room, the Dursleys huddled together, staring at Sirius with faces full of terror, seemingly doing nothing.
"Hiccup—"
Dudley let out a comical hiccup.
Sirius took Harry's luggage from him, and the two "cordially" bid farewell to the Dursleys before exiting the house. Standing on the roadside, Harry said excitedly, "Where are we going now? Your place? The Burrow? How are we going? By broomstick?"
Saying this, the boy made to rummage through his luggage for his Firebolt.
"…We're walking."
Sirius hoisted Harry's luggage and gestured for him to follow—
A minute later, Harry looked back at the Dursley house barely fifty meters away, then up at the room ahead of him, blinking in confusion.