The Dursleys really were astonishingly stupid about their son, Dudley They had swallowed all his dim-witted lies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of the summer holidays. "He's got so many little friends, he's so popular." Harry repressed a snort with difficulty. "Dudders out for tea?" "At the Polkisses'," said Aunt Petunia fondly. She had rounded the corner and vanished from view before Uncle Vernon's voice floated out of the window again. Figg had recently taken to asking him around for tea whenever she met him in the street. Harry was very pleased that he was concealed behind the bush Mrs. She was frowning and muttering to herself. Figg, a batty, cat -loving old lady from nearby Wisteria Walk, amble slowly past. Harry listened to a jingle about Fruit 'N Bran breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs. "The window's open!" "Oh - yes - sorry, dear." The Dursley's fell silent. As if a normal boy cares what's on the news - Dudley hasn't gotten a clue whats going on, doubt he knows who the Prime Minister is! Anyway, it's not as if there'd be anything about his lot on our news -" "Vernon, shh!" said Aunt Petunia. "I'd like to know what he's really up to. " Watching the news." he said scathingly. "Not in the house." Uncle Vernon grunted. Where is he anyway?" "I don't know," said Aunt Petunia unconcernedly. "Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in. Almost as though this thought had fluttered through the open window, Vernon Dursley, Harry's Uncle, suddenly spoke. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth, but on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room and watching television with his aunt and uncle. On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hiding here. 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.
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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 passerby. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. 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 tim. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flower bed outside number four.
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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. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lans that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. 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.