HP Approaches the Magical World

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Harry was bleeding.

He squeezed his right hand with his left hand, cursed silently, and pushed open the bedroom door with his shoulder.

There was a sudden creak of broken porcelain under his feet: because he didn't see a cup of herbal tea on the ground outside his bedroom door, he stepped on it.

"how--?"

Harry looked around, there was no one on the landing.

This cup of tea is probably Dudley's cleverness and wants to make a prank for him.

Harry held up his bleeding hand, picked up the fragment of the teacup with his other hand, and threw it into the already full trash can behind the bedroom door.

Then he walked across the room into the bathroom and put his fingers under the faucet to rinse.

There are four days to be unable to use magic, which is really stupid, unreasonable, and irritating...

But he had to admit that this deep cut on his finger definitely prevented him from handling it.

He had never learned how to repair the wounds, and now thinking about it—especially thinking of his next plan—this seemed to be a serious flaw in his magic education.

He secretly decided to ask Hermione about this question next time, while taking a large bundle of toilet paper to wipe the tea stains off the floor as much as possible, then returned to the bedroom and closed the door heavily.

In the morning, Harry completely emptied his school box, the first time he had boxed it six years ago.

In the past, every time the school started, he would replace and update three-quarters of the contents on the box. There was always a mess of debris on the bottom of the box-old quill pens, withered beetle eyes, which were already too bad to wear. Right socks.

A few minutes ago, Harry reached into this layer of debris, and the ring finger of his right hand suddenly felt a sharp pain. He took it out and saw that it was already bleeding.

Now his actions are more cautious.

He knelt next to the box again, fumbled carefully at the bottom of the box, and took out a worn-out badge with the faint words supporting Cedric Diggory and Potter **** alternately flashing;

Then he took out a dilapidated and cracked sight glass and a gold locket with a note signed R.A.B. hidden in the box, and finally found a sharp blade that scratched his finger.

He immediately recognized that it was a fragment of the magic mirror given to him by Sirius. It was two inches long.

Harry put it aside and carefully looked for other fragments in the box, but the godfather's last gift was only a few shards of glass, glued to the bottom of the box, like shiny coarse sand.

Harry straightened up and looked carefully at the jagged fragment that scratched his finger, only seeing his bright green eyes in it.

He put the broken lens on the bed in the "Daily Prophet" that had just been delivered in the morning and had not read it. He turned to deal with the garbage left in the box, trying to curb the painful memories that suddenly came to his mind. Heartbreaking regret and longing caused by the broken lens.

It took him another hour to completely empty the box, throw away the useless things, and divide the rest into piles according to whether they needed to be in the future.

College robes, Quidditch robes, cauldrons, parchment paper, quill pens, and most of the textbooks were piled in a corner and left at home.

I don't know how my aunt and uncle dealt with them, maybe they were burnt in the middle of the night, as if they were evidence of some heinous crime.

His Muggle clothes, invisibility cloak, potion-making equipment, a few books, and the photo album, a stack of letters and magic wand that Hagrid had previously given him were put in an old backpack.

The front pocket of the backpack is stuffed with a live spot map and a gold locket with R.A.B.'s signature note.

Putting the locket in such an important position is not because of how precious it is—in common sense, it is worthless—but because of the price paid for it.

Or rather, because of Dumbledore.

He once thought he knew Dumbledore well, but at the same time he had to admit that he knew almost nothing about Dumbledore.

He had never imagined Dumbledore's childhood and youth. It seemed that Dumbledore had suddenly become the way Harry knew him, young Gaode Shao with silver hair and beard.

It always feels weird to think of Dumbledore as a teenager, like imagining a dull-headed Hermione, or imagining a friendly snail.

He never thought about asking about Dumbledore's past.

——It would seem a bit awkward and even presumptuous to do so, but Dumbledore participated in the legendary duel with Grindelwald ——This is a well-known fact, and Harry did not expect to ask Dumbledore at the time. He did not ask him about his other famous achievements.

They are always talking about Harry's things, including Harry's past, Harry's future, Harry's plans...

And now Harry felt that although his future was indeed perilous and his future was uncertain, the opportunity he had lost was irretrievable: he did not ask Dumbledore more about himself, and the only one he asked the principal The personal question was the only question he suspected that Dumbledore had not answered honestly:

"When you looked in the magic mirror, what did you see?"

"Me? I saw myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks."

Harry pondered for a few minutes, tore the obituary from the "Daily Prophet", folded it carefully, and sandwiched it in the first book of "Practical Defense Magic and Its Restraint to Dark Magic".

He threw the remaining newspapers on the garbage dump and turned to look at the room.

The room was much cleaner. The only thing that was not in place was the Daily Prophet, which was still spread on the bed, with the broken lens pressed on it.

Harry walked over, shook the broken lens off the Daily Prophet of the day, and opened the newspaper.

In the morning he took the rolled-up newspaper from the Owl Postman, glanced at the headline, and found that there was no news of Voldemort, so he threw it aside.

Harry believed that the Ministry of Magic put pressure on the Daily Prophet to block news about Voldemort.

Only then did he realize that he had missed something.

A new report.

Regarding Dumbledore’s interview with Rita Skeeter, obviously there is a lot of fabricated content, but no one cares about this. Voldemort has brought too much pressure to everyone, and everyone wants to find opportunities. relax for a moment.

Dumbledore’s anecdotes may not be the best choice, but it must be a good choice.

It's just that Harry is in a bad mood, but no one cares what he thinks.

At this moment, he began to miss Dumbledore very much, because Dumbledore was always so kind and tireless, much better than the people he faced now.

This is really helpless. He looked at the lens inside and suddenly heard a muffled noise.

The sound of the front door being heavily closed reached upstairs, and a person shouted, "Hey! You!"

Harry had been screaming like this for sixteen years. He knew who his uncle was calling, but he didn't answer right away.

He was still staring at the broken lens, and for a moment, he saw Dumbledore's eyes in a daze.

It wasn't until the uncle yelled "Boy!" that Harry slowly stood up, walked towards the bedroom door, stopped halfway and stuffed the broken lens into the backpack, which was full of things he planned to take.

"What is it?" Vernon Dursley saw Harry appear at the top of the stairs, and shouted angrily: "Come down, I have something to say!"

Harry put his hands in his jeans pockets and walked slowly down the stairs.

He came to the living room and found that the Dursley family were all three, all dressed up for a long journey: Uncle Vernon wore a fawn zippered jacket, Aunt Petunia wore a simple light orange shirt, Harry The big, yellow-haired, muscular cousin Dudley wore a leather jacket.

"Something wrong?"

"Sit down!" Uncle Vernon ordered, which made Harry raise his eyebrows.

"Please!" Uncle Vernon hurriedly asked for help, frowning, as if the word pierced his throat.

Harry had basically guessed what it was.

When his uncle began to pace the room, Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed his uncle with their eyes, showing a worried look, he thought of it.

But he didn't speak, just waited for the other person to speak.

Finally, Vernon stopped in front of Harry, his big purple face crumpled, and he spoke.

"I changed my mind."

"It's amazing."

Harry controlled himself and didn't roll his eyes, but obviously his tone was not very good.

"Don't use that tone—"

Aunt Petunia screamed, and Uncle Vernon waved her to shut up.

"It's all lie," Uncle Vernon stared at Harry with a pair of piggy eyes. "I decided not to believe a word. We won't go or go anywhere."

Harry looked up at his uncle, annoyed and funny.

For the past four weeks, Vernon Dursley had to change his mind every twenty-four hours. Every time he changed his mind, he had to frustrate his luggage, get off the car, and then put it in the car.

Harry thought the cutest thing was that Uncle Vernon wanted to put the luggage back into the trunk of the car, but didn't know that Dudley put the dumbbells in the luggage this time, and fell to the ground with anger and pain, and yelled at him.

"According to you," Vernon Dursley said at this moment, pacing again in the living room: "We-Petunia, Dudley and I-are in danger. The danger comes from-from- —"

"Some people in'our kind,' that's right."

"Huh, I don't believe it," Uncle Vernon said again, stopping in front of Harry again: "I didn't sleep in the middle of the night last night, thinking about this, it must be a conspiracy, I want to occupy the house."

"House?" Harry asked, "What house?"

"This house!" Uncle Vernon screamed, and the blood vessels on his forehead began to beat suddenly: "Our house! House prices around here are soaring!

You want to drive us away and do some tricks. Before we understand it, the name on the deed will become yours—"

"Are you confused?" Harry asked, "Plotting to occupy this house? Are you really as stupid as you are?"

"how dare you--!"

Aunt Petunia screamed, and Vernon waved her to shut up again, as if compared to the danger he had seen, it was nothing to be insulted by her appearance.

"I'm afraid you forgot," Harry said. "I already have a house, which my godfather left to me. What do I want this house for? For all those happy past events?"

silence.

Harry thought his uncle's words had been suppressed, so he didn't continue.

"You claim," Uncle Vernon said, and started pacing again: "This demon--"

"—Voldemort," Harry said impatiently, "We've discussed this a hundred times. It's not a claim, it's a fact. Dumbledore told you last year, Kingsley and Mr. Weasley— —"

Vernon Dursley arched his shoulders angrily, and Harry guessed that his uncle was trying to get rid of the memory.

Just a few days after Harry's summer vacation, two adult wizards suddenly visited him.

Kingsley Shaker and Arthur Weasley appeared at the door, bringing the Dursley family a very unpleasant shock.

Harry had to admit that Mr. Weasley had smashed half of the living room into ruins, and his reappearance would certainly not please Uncle Vernon.

"——Kingsley and Mr. Weasley also explained it," Harry continued unmovedly: "As soon as I turn seventeen, the spell to protect me will be lifted, and you and I will be exposed. .

The Order of the Phoenix believes that Voldemort will target you, or torture you, torture me, or think that I will take you hostages and I will rush to rescue. "

Uncle Vernon and Harry's eyes met.

At this moment, Harry believed that the same question arose in both of them.

Then, Uncle Vernon started pacing again, and Harry continued: "You must hide. The Order of the Phoenix is ​​willing to help and provide you with the best and tightest protection."

Uncle Vernon didn't speak, and continued to pace back and forth.

Outside, the sun hung low over the privet hedge, and the lawnmower of the neighbor next door went out again.

"Isn't there a Ministry of Magic?"

"Not bad."

"So why can't they protect us?

In my opinion, as innocent victims, we have never done anything bad except for adopting a suspect. We deserve the protection of the government! "

Harry laughed out ~www.wuxiahere.com~ He couldn't help but laugh, his uncle was like that, always pinning his hopes on the authority, even in a world where he was hostile and distrustful.

"You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said," Harry replied. "We think the Ministry of Magic has mixed in bad guys."

Uncle Vernon strode to the fireplace and returned, wheezing and panting, the thick black mustache undulating along with it, and his big face still rose to purple-red.

"Well," he stopped in front of Harry again: "Well, let's just say that, we accept this protection, but I still don't understand why we can't let the big Kingsley protect us."

Harry tried his best to endure it, and didn't turn his eyes, because this question had already been raised six or seven times.

"I told you," Harry gritted his teeth and said, "Kingsley is protecting Ma-I mean your prime minister."

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