HP Approaches the Magical World

"I'll talk about it later, Harry," Dumbledore said, "Sit down."

Harry sat down in the other armchair, trying not to visit the Dursleys, they seemed to be too scared to speak.

"I thought you would let me drink something,"

Dumbledore said to Uncle Vernon: "It now appears that this expectation is ridiculously optimistic."

With a light wave of the wand for the third time, a dirty wine bottle and five glasses appeared in the air.

The bottle automatically turned sideways to fill each cup with honey-yellow liquid, and then the cups floated towards everyone in the room.

"Mrs. Rosmerta's best oak ripened mead."

Dumbledore said and raised his glass to Harry, and Harry grabbed his own glass and took a sip.

He had never tasted anything like this before, but he liked it very much. The Dursleys quickly looked at each other in a panic, and then desperately avoided their cups.

This is not easy, because the cup keeps bumping their heads lightly to remind them.

Harry couldn't help wondering if Dumbledore was deliberately playing a prank.

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to him, "Now there is a problem, and I hope you can help us solve it.

I'm referring to the Order of the Phoenix, but first of all, I want to tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago, and he left everything he has to you. "

Uncle Vernon on the sofa turned his head, but Harry didn't look at him and couldn't think of what to say, so he just replied: "Really?"

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"It's basically relatively simple," Dumbledore continued, "you have a large amount of gold in your Gringotts account, and you have inherited all of Sirius' personal belongings.

The problematic part of the legacy..."

"His godfather is dead?"

Dumbledore and Harry both turned to look at Mr. Dursley.

The glass of mead had knocked Vernon on the head reluctantly now, and he desperately tried to drive it away.

"He's dead? His godfather?"

"Yes it is."

Dumbledore didn't ask Harry why he didn't tell the Dursleys about it.

"The problem now is,"

He continued to Harry, as if uninterrupted, "Sirius also left 12 Grimmauld Place for you."

"Leave him a house?"

Uncle Vernon said greedily, his small eyes narrowed, but no one paid attention to him.

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"You can keep it as the headquarters."

Harry said, "I don't care, you can use it, I don't really need it."

Whenever possible, Harry never wanted to step into 12 Grimmauld Place.

He felt that he would never forget that Sirius once wandered alone in those dim and mouldy rooms, imprisoned in the place he longed to leave day and night.

"That's too generous."

Dumbledore said, "However, we temporarily withdrew from that house."

"why?"

"Yes,"

Dumbledore ignored Uncle Vernon’s mumbling, and continued: “The Black family’s tradition stipulates that the house must be passed on from generation to generation to be passed on to the next male surnamed Black.

Sirius is the last descendant in his family, because his brother Regulus died before him, and neither of them had children.

Although his will makes it clear that he wants to leave the house to you, some magic or spells may have been cast on that place to ensure that no non-pure-blooded person can occupy it. "

A picture flashed in Harry's mind of the portrait of Sirius's mother screaming and cursing in Hall 12 of Grimmauld Place.

"It must be that way."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "If there is such a curse, then the ownership of this house is likely to belong to the oldest surviving member of the Black family, that is, Sirius' cousin, Bella. Trix Lestrange."

Before Harry realized what he was doing, he jumped up, his binoculars and sneakers rolled to the ground.

The murderer who killed Sirius, inherit his house?

"Do not!"

"Yeah, we definitely don't want her to get it."

Dumbledore said calmly, "The situation is quite complicated. The ownership of the house is no longer owned by Sirius. We don’t know some of the magic we used to cast it, such as making it impossible to plot on the map, and so on. We don’t care about it now. use.

Bellatrix would be at the door at any time, so we had to move out first and wait until the situation was clear. "

"But how can you figure out if I can have it?"

"Fortunately," Dumbledore said, "there is a simple test method."

He put the empty glass on the small table next to the chair, and before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon shouted, "Can you get these **** things away from us?"

Harry turned his head to look at ~www.wuxiahere.com~ The three Dursleys were covering their heads with their arms, because their glasses were jumping up and down and hitting their heads, and the wine inside was spilled everywhere.

"Oh, sorry."

Dumbledore said politely, and raised his wand again, and the three glasses disappeared.

"But you know, it's more graceful to drink it."

It seemed that Vernon couldn't help but want to say a few ugly words as a counterattack, but he just retracted into the sofa cushion with Petunia and Dudley, silent, a pair of small pig eyes fixed on Dumbledore's wand.

"Look," Dumbledore said, turning to Harry again, and continued as if Uncle Vernon hadn't spoken at all, "If you do inherit the house, you will also inherit—"

He waved his wand for the fifth time, and with a loud popping sound, a house elf appeared, his nose protruding upward, with a pair of large bat-like ears and a pair of copper bell-like, bloodshot eyes.

He was dressed in dirty torn clothes and squatted on the plush carpet of Dursley's house.

Aunt Petunia let out a sweaty scream, and Dudley quickly lifted his big pink bare feet from the floor, almost above his head, as if he was afraid that the monster would follow him. The trouser legs of the pajamas seemed to climb up.

Uncle Vernon shouted, "What is that thing?"

"Kreacher." Dumbledore continued.

"No Kreacher, no Kreacher, no Kreacher!"

The house elf said with a dumb voice, his voice almost as high as Uncle Vernon’s, while stomping his long, crumpled feet, and grabbing his big ears: "Kreacher belongs to the Black family. , Kreacher wants a new mistress, Kreacher does not go to Potter, Kreacher does not—"