"This is terrible..."
Harry stared absently out the window at the street.
Fanatical fans drove in convoys toward the stadium, leaving behind a trail of litter and noise.
Mrs. Figg stood in her doorway, cursing loudly.
However, Harry's muttered complaint had nothing to do with the scene before him—he would have given anything to join them.
Today was his birthday.
But he hadn't received a single letter.
Hermione, Ron, Neville...
Since returning to Uncle Vernon's house, he felt completely cut off from the magical world.
All those scenes from Hogwarts seemed like memories from a dream—distant echoes of a past life.
Making it impossible to distinguish reality.
"Hey! Boy!"
A rough, brutal voice rang out.
Uncle Vernon suddenly appeared behind Harry, grabbing his thin shoulders. Before Harry could react, he was shoved into the living room.
"Don't forget what I told you yesterday!"
"Of course, I remember perfectly."
Harry rubbed his aching arm, nodding helplessly.
"I'll pretend I don't exist."
He'd long grown accustomed to such treatment.
"Good!"
Uncle Vernon nodded with satisfaction.
"We're going out—taking our guests to see a match first. You need to prepare sandwiches!"
"Clean the house, then get back to your room and count sheep quietly."
"In your head!"
Vernon emphasized pointedly.
"As you wish..."
Harry couldn't be bothered arguing anymore about how the cupboard wasn't actually a room.
The crushing disappointment in his heart had long buried any irritation at the Dursleys' impatient attitude.
And so he watched Vernon's family leave the house in their finest clothes, slamming the door heavily behind them.
"Dudley, you've gotten fatter."
Harry picked up a suit button from the carpet, tossed it in the trash, then entered his "room" to drag out the heavy vacuum cleaner...
---
"Tiger! How have you been lately!"
Dr. Granger's family had arrived at the Shelby pub.
Today, the Shelby bastards had already gathered at the pub, waiting for the match to begin.
On the television above the bar, some unnamed retired player droned on about both teams' strengths and weaknesses.
"Go to hell, you idiot!"
"You should be standing on the center line!"
"Don't let me see you, you son of a bitch!"
Inside the pub, raucous cursing filled every corner.
As seasoned fans, Arthur and Ivan—the Russian gang leader—had opened a betting pool with a steady stream of participants.
John and Tommy were still at the Nott estate, helping Theodore handle miscellaneous affairs while waiting for the Ministry's reply.
"Not really..."
Tiger leaned lazily against the bar, absently stroking a cat.
"Say, do you have any patients who can't stand their toothache? I could help end their suffering quickly."
"Uh..."
Dr. Granger froze in place, genuinely unable to tell if Tiger was joking.
Compared to a year ago, this guy had changed far too much.
"Tiger, you're just so..."
Mrs. Granger covered her mouth in disbelief, staring at Tiger with gleaming eyes.
"Mum!"
Only when Hermione tugged irritably at her sleeve did Mrs. Granger snap back to reality, swallowing the word "gorgeous" that had nearly escaped her lips...
Tiger's blood-pumping physique encompassed everything that appealed to married women—it was genuinely irresistible.
"Ahem..."
"Tiger, want to go watch the match in person?"
Hermione approached Tiger's side, her gaze somewhat evasive. Even now she didn't dare look directly at him.
But she desperately wanted to go out and have fun with a friend.
She hadn't received replies from those two useless boys Harry and Ron all holiday, and felt utterly lonely.
"In person, eh..."
Tiger was somewhat tempted.
He remembered the last time he'd gone to see a match—he was three years old, riding on Arthur's shoulders, sleeping soundly.
"My dad got five tickets. We could go find Harry too..."
Just hearing Tiger's voice, Hermione could already sense his interest.
She eagerly grabbed Tiger's hand, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Let's go then!"
Tiger decided not to hesitate any longer.
The pub's unbearable cursing rose and fell in waves—he really couldn't stand it anymore. If Mother Polly weren't nearby, he'd definitely join in!
And maybe sneak some beer while he was at it...
---
"Good Lord..."
The laundry room was packed full of clothes. The acrid stench of Uncle Vernon and Dudley's sweat nearly overflowed from the pile.
Harry was completely overwhelmed. He collapsed into a chair, gazing forlornly out the window.
The fans on the street had gradually thinned out, leaving things rather quiet, but he could still feel that exhilarating sense of freedom.
"The days pass so slowly..."
He wanted to return to Hogwarts. Even if they tripled the homework on his parchments, he'd be willing.
Just then, a car horn suddenly honked outside the window, followed by a familiar shout.
"Harry! Harry! Harry!"
"Are you home, Harry!"
It was Hermione!
Recognizing the voice, Harry shot to his feet, running toward the door with pure joy.
"I'm here! I'm here! Hermione!"
"Ah! Damn it!"
Harry twisted the door handle repeatedly, producing rattling sounds, but the door was locked from the outside—he couldn't get out.
"Oh! No!"
"Hermione! Hermione! I'm in here!"
Nearly desperate cries rang out from inside. He just wanted to see his companion, to chat with a friend!
Why was it locked!
Harry kicked frantically at the door in frustration.
"Harry! Are you alright! I wrote you so many letters, but you never replied."
Hermione had clearly heard the commotion inside, calling out with worry from outside the door.
"Letters?"
Harry's movements froze.
"I'm... I'm sorry... Hermione... I... I didn't receive any letters!"
An ominous premonition crept over him.
He suddenly felt as though someone was trying to completely separate him from the magical world. The chilling implications sent shivers down his spine.
"Hermione! Get me out of here!"
"Think of something! Please!" Harry's panicked cries for help came through the door.
He didn't want to leave Hogwarts, didn't want to leave his friends, and especially didn't want to return to that cold, solitary existence.
"Damn it!"
Hermione pried at the lock with a butterfly knife, sweating profusely from anxiety. Though she didn't know what had happened to Harry, she could hear the terror in his cries for help.
"Tiger, help me!"
Tiger, who had been watching a butterfly, suddenly heard Hermione's voice tinged with tears.
He snapped his head up.
Behind his black-rimmed glasses, amber eyes blazed with murderous intent, as if searching for prey.
After hearing Harry's cries for help from inside, Tiger pulled Hermione aside and called out gravely through the door:
"Harry, step back!"
Hearing Tiger's voice suddenly ring out from outside, Harry's frantic tugging at the door handle instantly stopped. His emerald eyes suddenly flickered with hope.
Though he was somewhat afraid of Tiger, when it came to feeling safe, no one in Surrey could make ordinary people feel more secure than the Shelbys...
"Tiger, I'm ready!"
Hearing Harry's muffled response from inside, Tiger suddenly raised his elbow, bringing it down like a sledgehammer on the door lock. The lock shattered on impact.
Then he kicked out.
With tremendous force, the door flew straight back, crashing into the hallway with a thunderous bang. Dust filled the air, and cracks spread through the wall around the doorframe...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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