MidReal Story
Chapter One: The Worst Birthday The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing—for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four. He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter’s appearance did not endear him to the neighbors, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flower bed below. He had been lying there all afternoon and hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since breakfast, but he thought this was preferable to the alternative. Yesterday, at twenty past nine in the evening, he had been sent to his bedroom by Uncle Vernon without any supper at all. Aunt Petunia had shouted at him from the other side of the door that he’d be let out again in the morning, and that he should stop gibbering about owls. But (and this was a very big but) he had crept downstairs at five o’clock that morning to try and write to Sirius, and had been unable to contain himself. If it hadn’t been for Dobby, Harry would definitely have been given one more chance by the Dursleys, but when they found out that he had lost all his phone privileges for the rest of the summer, Aunt Petunia smashed all the crockery she could reach with a hammer, and Uncle Vernon put bars on Harry’s window (making sure that his school owl, Hedwig, couldn’t get out) they were both too afraid of what Harry might do to send him to his room again. They bought him a cheap television set and a little shriveled-up package of low-quality sweets from the nearest garage, and hoped that this would keep him happy—and quiet. They turned out to be wrong on both counts: Harry threw the package of sweets at Uncle Vernon the first time he tried to give them to him, and he didn’t watch television except for an old eighteen-inch set in the kitchen, which he always made sure was tuned to a news channel. He spent most of the next few days sitting by his bedroom window, hoping that some sort of owl would appear. On the third night after Hedwig’s departure Harry was lying in bed watching his flashlight dart along his watch strap and onto his desk, where it illuminated his diary. The sky outside was still pinkish orange. Harry kept his eyes fixed on his diary, lit by flashes of lightning. Dobby might be able to tell him something he thought, something that would explain these strange things that keep happening—
Scenario: Harry's magical abilities cause chaos, Petunia and Vernon Dursley are imprisoned by Harry, Lucius Malfoy is defeated by Harry and a house-elf, and Severus Snape learns that Harry has acquired a house-elf companion.
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Chapter One: The Worst Birthday
The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing—for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.
He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter’s appearance did not endear him to the neighbors, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flower bed below.
He had been lying there all afternoon and hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since breakfast, but he thought this was preferable to the alternative. Yesterday, at twenty past nine in the evening, he had been sent to his bedroom by Uncle Vernon without any supper at all. Aunt Petunia had shouted at him from the other side of the door that he’d be let out again in the morning, and that he should stop gibbering about owls. But (and this was a very big but) he had crept downstairs at five o’clock that morning to try and write to Sirius, and had been unable to contain himself.
If it hadn’t been for Dobby, Harry would definitely have been given one more chance by the Dursleys, but when they found out that he had lost all his phone privileges for the rest of the summer, Aunt Petunia smashed all the crockery she could reach with a hammer, and Uncle Vernon put bars on Harry’s window (making sure that his school owl, Hedwig, couldn’t get out) they were both too afraid of what Harry might do to send him to his room again. They bought him a cheap television set and a little shriveled-up package of low-quality sweets from the nearest garage, and hoped that this would keep him happy—and quiet. They turned out to be wrong on both counts: Harry threw the package of sweets at Uncle Vernon the first time he tried to give them to him, and he didn’t watch television except for an old eighteen-inch set in the kitchen, which he always made sure was tuned to a news channel.
He spent most of the next few days sitting by his bedroom window, hoping that some sort of owl would appear. On the third night after Hedwig’s departure Harry was lying in bed watching his flashlight dart along his watch strap and onto his desk, where it illuminated his diary. The sky outside was still pinkish orange. Harry kept his eyes fixed on his diary, lit by flashes of lightning. Dobby might be able to tell him something he thought, something that would explain these strange things that keep happening—
整个的大洞口均匀的规则的圆形，有一种说不出来的美感，显得那四块砖相得益彰。
。
He had been lying there all afternoon and hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since breakfast, but he thought this was preferable to the alternative. Yesterday, at twenty past nine in the evening, he had been sent to his bedroom by Uncle Vernon without any supper at all. Aunt Petunia had shouted at him from the other side of the door that he’d be let out again in the morning, and that he should stop gibbering about owls. But (and this was a very big but) he had crept downstairs at five o’clock that morning to try and write to Sirius, and had been unable to contain himself.
就在晚上，天色已经完全黑了下来，而此时的萧雪却兴奋的拉着我的手指。
他不是第一次跟着我走，但每次都发誓要再也不跟着我了。一路上，他一直在抱怨自己的小心脏承受不了多大的惊吓。我走的地方他不知道，他只觉得我一定是去了很危险的地方。
我深深吸了一口气，然后向右手边的四块砖牢牢的看了两眼。随即，我的魔杖从袍子里飞快的滑出，一杖挑飞了四块砖。
他们之前也试图阻止我用魔法，但我知道他们没有办法限制我。他们每次都告诉我什么事情不能做，我只能乖乖照做。我的魔杖刚刚收回去，他们就无法防止我了。
接着我慢悠悠的走进那个大洞里。盯着那个大洞，我突然想到一个问题——这个洞到底有多深？
“哈利小主人，你到底要干什么？”
萧雪激动的问道。我笑着看了看他。这家伙真是个活宝。
“你就等着看吧。”
说完，我的魔杖又飞快的出现。这次，它将三块砖挑飞，然后我俯身走进洞里。洞里黑暗潮湿，但这对于我来说并不是问题。前世的时候，我曾经徒手爬越过一条冲沟和山崖。英国虽然没有很高的山，但我却总是在周末的时候爬山。现在想想来也是很幸运的事情——如果没有前世那些经历，我的魔法可能不会这么强大。
