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.

If circumstances beyond Sirius's control had indeed delayed his arrival, Harry thought that he would at least make an effort to assert his presence in the house. He was tired of being treated like a ghost, mute and invisible, for the rest of his time under the Dursleys' roof.

As Harry descended the stairs, the sounds and smells of the Dursley family's lunch wafted up to greet him. The three members of his adoptive family were already gathered in the dining room, a scene of domestic normalcy that always seemed to exclude him.

Uncle Vernon's considerable bulk was mostly hidden behind the morning's copy of the "Daily Mail," his fat face just visible over the top of the newspaper. The rustle of pages turning was mixed with occasional grunts and muttered comments about the state of the world.

At the kitchen counter stood Aunt Petunia, her horse-like face pinched in concentration as she meticulously divided up the family's lunch. With practiced precision, she placed half of the bacon and grilled sausages onto Harry's designated plate(this wasn't the rule before, but since the start of this summer holiday, Harry had his own plate). This equal distribution was also a recent development; prior to this summer holiday, Harry's portions had been significantly smaller. Whether this change stemmed from fear of Sirius or a grudging acknowledgment of Harry's growing needs, he couldn't be sure.

Of the remaining half, Aunt Petunia allocated two-thirds to another plate – undoubtedly Dudley's – while the final third was split equally between two smaller portions, presumably for herself and Uncle Vernon.

Dudley sat at the dining table; his beady eyes fixed on Aunt Petunia's every move. It was clear from his expression that he was acutely aware of which portion was destined for his plate. His face bore an even sulkier expression than usual, if such a thing were possible. Despite being on a diet mandated by his school nurse, Dudley seemed to be taking up more space than ever, his massive frame stretching the limits of the sturdy dining chair.

The tension in the room was palpable as Aunt Petunia prepared to bring the food to the table. Dudley, realizing this was his last chance to protest the unfair (in his eyes) distribution, finally erupted.

"It's not fair!" he roared, his multiple chins quivering with indignation. "You always give him the most!"

Aunt Petunia's pursed lips trembled at her son's outburst. Her eyes, already watery from the strain of the past few weeks, began to overflow with tears. "Oh, my sweet darling," she began, her voice wavering, "It's not because... we've discussed this before. The school nurse thinks... well, she thinks you should control your nutrient intake appropriately."

This explanation, rehearsed and repeated countless times over the summer, couldn't convince Dudley at all. His face reddened, nearly matching the hue of the bacon on his plate. "But that freak can't even finish it!" he shouted, jabbing a pudgy finger in the direction of Harry's portion.

At this latest outburst, Aunt Petunia's composure finally crumbled. Tears began to stream down her bony cheeks as she wrestled with the conflicting desires to appease her beloved son and sticking to the diet plan. The stress of the summer – caught between Dudley's new dietary restrictions and the unwelcome boy in the house – had taken its toll. She had lost countless hairs, and dark circles had taken up permanent residence under her eyes.

But regardless of her personal turmoil, the problem at hand needed addressing. Clutching her chest dramatically, Aunt Petunia opened her mouth to attempt another round of persuasion. However, the words died on her lips as her gaze fell upon Harry, standing silently in the doorway of the dining room.

Dudley, puzzled by his mother's sudden silence, caught the shift in Aunt Petunia's expression. A flicker of confusion passed through his small, watery eyes. The act of turning around seemed to require an excessive amount of effort for someone of Dudley's size. After much grunting and shifting, he finally managed to spin in his seat. The moment his eyes landed on Harry, the intimidating expression he had been wearing vanished instantly. Harry could practically see the fear taking root in Dudley's scrunched-up features.

How to describe the scene before him? Harry thought internally. Despite the general misery of his situation with the Dursleys, he had to admit that the expressions on Dudley and Aunt Petunia's faces were quite amusing. It seemed that the fact that the 'murderer' Sirius was his godfather had indeed terrified the Dursley family.

"I think Dudley is right," Harry said, his voice cutting through the tense silence. He shrugged nonchalantly, his emerald eyes pointed towards his designated plate on the kitchen counter. "The portion is indeed too much for me."

Harry's sudden interjection nearly catapulted Uncle Vernon out of his chair. The large man finally lowered his newspaper, his bushy mustache quivering non-stop like an agitated caterpillar on his upper lip. His beady eyes darted between Harry and the rest of his family, unsure of how to react to this unexpected development.

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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