Categories > Books > Harry Potter
The summer sun was overwhelming. As sweat dripped off his nose, Harry thought wryly of the old song: 'Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun...' Well, in this sweltering August Monday, even most Englishmen would have packed in the towel by now.
That is, of course, if they had the option to do so. He put down the pruning shears briefly and wiped his face with the hem of his T-shirt. Longingly, he considered sneaking inside for a cool glass of orange juice, but a corner of lace in the window twitched ominously. Resigned, he picked up his tools and set back to work before his Aunt's screeching voice could echo out from the kitchen.
Really, she couldn't be a muggle. Her uncanny radar was far too good at finding slackers (and gossip) to be anything but magical...
Continuing with his pruning, Harry was a little sorry for the plants. The marigolds were looking just as droopy from heat and thirst as he felt; Surrey had been on a hosepipe ban for almost a week now, and the lawns along Privet Drive weren't quite their usual emerald selves.
The lawns weren't the only things suffering in this heat-wave: people were holing themselves up indoors with ice-cubes and electric fans. Harry snickered to himself, remembering the fuss that had resulted when Dudley, trying to get closer to the cool air, had knocked the large fan over and broken it. That had been the first time he'd seen Aunt Petunia angry at her precious Dudykins. The best thing was, Harry himself hadn't been allowed in the same room as the Dursley's fan, so they couldn't blame him for once.
He supposed this wasn't all bad. He found the garden work oddly relaxing, it was certainly peaceful as the Dursleys refused to venture outside with the temperature in the high thirties and in a way, this was like doing extra practice for Herbology over the summer. All in all, there were far worse ways to spend his holiday.
That is, of course, if they had the option to do so. He put down the pruning shears briefly and wiped his face with the hem of his T-shirt. Longingly, he considered sneaking inside for a cool glass of orange juice, but a corner of lace in the window twitched ominously. Resigned, he picked up his tools and set back to work before his Aunt's screeching voice could echo out from the kitchen.
Really, she couldn't be a muggle. Her uncanny radar was far too good at finding slackers (and gossip) to be anything but magical...
Continuing with his pruning, Harry was a little sorry for the plants. The marigolds were looking just as droopy from heat and thirst as he felt; Surrey had been on a hosepipe ban for almost a week now, and the lawns along Privet Drive weren't quite their usual emerald selves.
The lawns weren't the only things suffering in this heat-wave: people were holing themselves up indoors with ice-cubes and electric fans. Harry snickered to himself, remembering the fuss that had resulted when Dudley, trying to get closer to the cool air, had knocked the large fan over and broken it. That had been the first time he'd seen Aunt Petunia angry at her precious Dudykins. The best thing was, Harry himself hadn't been allowed in the same room as the Dursley's fan, so they couldn't blame him for once.
He supposed this wasn't all bad. He found the garden work oddly relaxing, it was certainly peaceful as the Dursleys refused to venture outside with the temperature in the high thirties and in a way, this was like doing extra practice for Herbology over the summer. All in all, there were far worse ways to spend his holiday.
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