If Harry had had any inclination that his and Draco’s meddling with time would in some way impact the meteorological outlook for the United Kingdom, he was sorely dissuaded of the notion less than a week into the holidays. The sun was early to rise and late to set, slowly roasting Little Whinging under its oppressive heat until the grass was yellow and brittle, small ponds had all but boiled away, and the population of Surrey had reached a new consensus as to what they deemed an acceptable level of public nudity.