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>But instead, he awoke at seven-thirty in the morning >to the shouts of workmen, the squeal and grinding of a >backhoe, and the shrill voice of his aunt shouting >instructions to the workers who had been hired to >relandscape the garden at Four Privet Drive, where >Harry felt about as welcome as an arsonist in a paper >factory. It was impossible to continue to sleep with >all the racket, so Harry resigned himself to it and >threw back the sheet, sitting on the edge of the bed >and fumbling on his bedside table for his glasses. The >room came into focus now, littered with wizarding >paraphernalia that was spilling out of his trunk, >which he had not properly unpacked yet. He rose to >walk to the wardrobe and stood looking at his >reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

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