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This day, another argument broke out at the breakfast table at Number 4 Privet Drive.

First thing in the morning, Vernon Dursley was awakened by a loud, strange yell from his nephew Harry's room.

"That's the third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, get rid of it!"

Harry, who was carrying a frying pan out of the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist, tried to explain.

"He's bored, he's used to flying outside. If I could just let him out at night..."

"You think I'm stupid, do you?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, a speck of fried egg dangling from his thick mustache. "I know what happens when you let an owl out, it'll bring back ten times as many owls!"

At this, the Dursley family exchanged a look of alarmed gloom.

They would never forget the terror of being besieged by omnipresent owl post.

"Listen, boy!" Mr. Dursley held up a stubby finger. "I've given you a bigger bedroom, and I haven't thrown your blasted wizard books and odd paraphernalia into the garbage, all because you've been helping your aunt in the kitchen this month, but if you want to push your luck, then that's too much!"

"But..."

"Besides, I remember giving you a chance, didn't I? This isn't my fault."

Vernon Dursley’s small eyes flashed with cunning as he looked at Harry, who seemed about to retort.

"If there's any mail, you can certainly choose to reply to a few. It's just a shame that, from the looks of it, you're not very popular in that strange place, and no friends want to contact you."

Having experienced the owl bombardment last year, Vernon Dursley was well aware of how troublesome those crazy wizards could be when they got stubborn. To prevent a similar situation from happening again this year, he had agreed with Harry before the summer vacation that he was not allowed to actively contact those weird folks unless it was to reply to letters.

"They must not have received it, let me try one more time..."

Hearing Mr. Dursley's words, Harry's face darkened slightly, and he said somewhat unwillingly.

However, before he could finish speaking, his words were drowned out by a long, loud belch from his cousin Dudley.

Dudley grinned, turned to face Harry, and tapped his plate with his fork.

"Hey, cook, get me some more fried bacon."

"Did you hear what your cousin said, Potter? Hand over the frying pan!"

Aunt Petunia glared at Harry, who was still standing there dumbfounded, then turned her head, her eyes moist, to look at her hulking son.

"We need to hurry up and fatten you up... The school food makes me uncomfortable... You've lost weight..."

"Nonsense, I never went hungry when I was at Smelting's—it's the best secondary school in this area, whether it's the food, the teaching, or even the people you meet! Dudley eats well, doesn't he, son?"

Uncle Vernon retorted emotionally, then glanced contemptuously at Harry standing at the kitchen door.

"At least, it's definitely better than some dodgy place... I wouldn't let my son go to a place that actually has students learning to cook for themselves, you can imagine how terrible the school food must be."

"Hogwarts' food is the best in the world, bar none!"

Harry slammed the frying pan heavily on the table, annoyed.

Perhaps due to too much force, the bacon slices in the frying pan suddenly popped up, flew across half the table, and landed with a smack right on Mr. Dursley's face, like a resounding slap, instantly knocking back all the remaining words of the man.

With that piece of bacon imprinted on Vernon Dursley's face, the whole room seemed to freeze for a few seconds.

Then, Harry heard Mr. Dursley's deafening roar.

"Boy! What do you think you're doing?! Up until now, you've been eating my food, using my things..."

Mr. Dursley threw the bacon slice on the table, jumped up, and the veins on his temples were bulging.

"Sorry, it was just an accident," Harry said quickly. "I didn't mean to—"

To be honest, Harry wasn't sure if it was because he really used too much force, or if the magic in his body had helped a little.

"Don't think I don't know you're up to something!"

Uncle Vernon glared and waved his fist forcefully, splattering saliva on the table.

"I warned you! You're not allowed to use the tricks you learned in that dodgy place in my house! Especially using those tricks on us! Breakfast is over, and I don't need you to prepare lunch either! Go back to your room! Now, immediately!"

"Fine," Harry said, "Okay... I'm not hungry anyway!"

Harry glanced at Uncle Vernon, who was standing at the other end of the table, panting like a short-tempered rhino, untied his apron, threw it on the table, and left the kitchen without looking back, returning to his room.

Since he came home for summer vacation, Uncle Vernon had been treating him like a ticking time bomb.

Even though he followed the advice of the head girl before leaving, and took the initiative to show goodwill to the Dursley family, such as helping with housework or contributing to the cooking of three meals a day, it only slightly eased their relationship.

As long as it involved magic, the Dursley family seemed to see a virus, wishing he would disappear instantly.

If, in Vernon Dursley’s words, Harry didn’t do anything, obediently squatted in his room and didn’t come out, didn’t let the surrounding neighbors see him, and then left silently, that would be the most wonderful help.

Of course, after tasting Harry's cooking once or twice, Vernon reluctantly changed his statement.

"This little brat is slightly useful—"

However, for Harry, the Dursley family's attitude didn't mean much.

Although he was raised by the Dursleys and had lived in this house for ten years, he knew very well that he was completely different from this family, with no common ground in terms of personality, appearance, or hobbies.

Returning to his room dejectedly, Harry looked at the calendar beside his bed that he looked at several times every day.

"Only one month left, I really want to go back to Hogwarts..."

Harry missed Hogwarts so much, his heart ached.

He missed the castle, the secret passages and ghosts, his classes, especially Potions Professor Snape's class, the letters brought by owls, the feasts in the Great Hall, his four-poster bed in his dormitory, the little wooden house by the Forbidden Forest and the gamekeeper Hagrid, and even more so, the head girl Elena, and everyone in the castle.

Today was his twelfth birthday, and the Dursleys obviously wouldn't remember that.

Of course, Harry didn't have much hope, they never gave him any decent gifts, let alone a birthday cake—what really made Harry's emotions somewhat out of control was that he suddenly had a feeling of being abandoned by the world.

For the past month, he had missed his friends so much, missed Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Elena Kaslana, Hermione Granger... but they didn't seem to miss him at all.

The summer vacation had been going on for a whole month, and no one had written to him. Malfoy had clearly promised to keep in touch.

And his godfather Sirius Black seemed to have evaporated from the face of the earth. He hadn't seen him since the Hogwarts public trial ended, only occasionally receiving a few letters from the man at school.

As expected...

Perhaps, as Professor Snape said, the godfather his father had found for him was indeed unreliable.

Bang!

Bang, bang, bang!

Just then, Harry heard strange noises, like banging and crashing, coming from the closet in the room.

"Give the letter back to Kreacher, you despicable, vulgar scum!"

"Dobby, Dobby must protect Mr. Potter!"

It sounded like... someone was fighting inside?

Harry frowned in confusion, instinctively pulled out his wand, and looked at the violently shaking closet with a look of alertness.

With the sound of something hitting the wood, the closet door was suddenly knocked open.

Two humanoid little creatures with bat-like ears and bulging eyes rolled out from inside while wrestling with each other—two house-elves that he had never seen before, one looking old and one looking younger.

And the object of their struggle was a crumpled parchment letter.