Harry sighed and carefully searched for other fragments in the box.
The bits and pieces of glass were stuck to the bottom of the box, like shiny coarse sand. As he touched them, Harry suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of irritation. He impatiently turned the entire box around and poured everything out.
Then, he stared blankly at the empty box and the debris on the floor for a long time before he fell weakly onto the bed.
I'll clean it up tomorrow. They won't come to pick me up so early.
In a daze, Harry thought about a lot of things.
Just like the dreams he had been having recently, one moment he thought of Sirius, the next moment he thought of Dumbledore, and the next moment he thought of Snape.
Ever since he saw the interview about Rita Skeeter in the newspaper last week, his mind had been in a mess. Bits and pieces of Rita's article echoed in his mind. She used a whole chapter to describe in detail the relationship between Potter and Dumbledore. This relationship could be said to be unhealthy, even evil. He himself had dabbled in black magic when he was young. I've found a source that most reporters are willing to exchange for with their wands …
"Lies!" Harry roared, his voice echoing in the empty house. Rita Skeeter's slandering of Dumbledore was infuriating, but Harry had to admit that he seemed, seemed, really didn't know much about Dumbledore's past. He had to admit that he knew almost nothing about Dumbledore.
He had never imagined Dumbledore's childhood and youth. It seemed that Dumbledore had suddenly become the person Harry knew.
Thinking of Dumbledore in his youth always made people feel weird. It was like imagining a slow-witted Hermione, or imagining a friendly snail.
In the past, Harry had never thought to ask about Dumbledore's past.
Of course, that would be a little awkward and even presumptuous, but Dumbledore had participated in the legendary duel with Grindelwald. This was a well-known fact, and Harry did not even think to ask Dumbledore about the situation at that time, nor did he ask him about his other famous achievements.
Nothing, nothing at all!
They were always talking about Harry, Harry's past, Harry's future, and Harry's plans. And now, Harry felt that even though his future was indeed full of danger and his future was uncertain, the opportunity he had lost could no longer be retrieved.
He did not ask Dumbledore more about himself, and the only personal question he asked the headmaster was the only one that he suspected Dumbledore had not answered honestly.
"What did you see when you looked into the magic mirror?"
"Me? I saw myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks. "
Harry pondered for a few minutes and covered his face with a pillow.
This time, he seemed to really fall asleep, but it did not last long. The sound of the front door slamming could be heard upstairs, and someone shouted, "Hey! You! "
Harry had been bossed around like this for sixteen years. He knew who his uncle was calling, but he did not answer immediately.
It was not until his uncle roared, "Boy!" that Harry slowly stood up and walked towards the bedroom door.
"What are you waiting for?" Vernon Dursley shouted angrily when he saw Harry appear at the top of the stairs. "Come down, I have something to say!"
Harry slowly walked down the stairs with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
When he reached the living room, he found the Dursleys there.
They were dressed for a long trip: Uncle Vernon in a light tan zip-up jacket, Aunt Petunia in a simple light orange blouse, and Harry's big, blond, muscular cousin Dudley in a leather jacket.
"What's the matter?" asked Harry.
"Sit down!" said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Please!" added Uncle Vernon hastily, frowning as if the word had stuck in his throat.
Harry sat down. He seemed to have guessed what was going on.
Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed him with worried looks as he began to walk up and down the room. Finally, Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry. His big purple face scrunched up, and he spoke.
"I've changed my mind," he said.
"What a surprise," said Harry.
"Don't use that tone —" shrieked Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon waved her to silence.
"It's all a bunch of lies!" said Uncle Vernon, staring at Harry with his piggish eyes. "I've decided not to believe a word of it. We're not leaving. We're not going anywhere. "
Harry looked up at his uncle, annoyed and amused.
For the past four weeks, Vernon Dursley had changed his mind every twenty-four hours.
Each time he changed his mind, he had to move his luggage into the car, out of the car, and into the car again.
Harry found it most amusing when Uncle Vernon tried to reload his luggage into the trunk of the car, not knowing that this time Dudley had put his dumbbells in his luggage. Uncle Vernon fell to the ground, swearing angrily and painfully.
"According to you and your godfather!" Said Vernon Dursley now, pacing the living room again. "We, Petunia, Dudley, and I, are in danger. Danger from — from —"
"Some of our kind, yes," said Harry.
"Hmph, I don't believe it." Uncle Vernon said again and stopped in front of Harry. "I didn't sleep last night, thinking about this. It must be a conspiracy to occupy the house."
"House?" asked Harry. "What house?"
"The house!" screamed Uncle Vernon, the veins in his forehead beginning to throb. "Our house! The property prices around here have skyrocketed! You wanted to send us away and then play some tricks. Before we understood what was going on, the name on the deed would be yours. Aha, that must be it. You and your unemployed godfather must have been spying on our house. I saw it all … "
Harry was stunned for a second, but he wasn't angry. Instead, he felt that his uncle was too stupid, too stupid to be saved.
If he wanted to, the gold in Sirius's vault could buy dozens of such houses, not including the property of the Blake family.
They had asked them to leave because of this broken house. How was that possible!
"Are you confused?" asked Harry with a sigh. "A conspiracy to occupy the house? Are you as stupid as you look? "
"How dare you!" shrieked Aunt Petunia.
Vernon waved her to silence again, as if the insult to his looks were nothing compared to the danger he saw.
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