HP Approaches the Magic World

Jon also met someone.

Also a woman.

If Helga still existed in this world, she would be an old woman over a thousand years old, older than many people in this world.

But this is not the case.

Because Helga is not a pure human, she is a new god.

Gods always maintain their beautiful appearance.

After all, a young god and an old god, I believe they can make choices with their feet.

"So you're here to say goodbye, and according to you, I'm the last one, right?"

"Important people always come last. I think you should firmly believe this."

"Perhaps I can trust others, but you have too many ideas. Who can tell what you are doing?

Besides, the fact that you suddenly came to my place to say goodbye is outrageous. Although your strength has grown very fast, with the addition of magic network, it would be abnormal if your strength does not grow fast.

But even if this rate of power growth continues, you will still have some time before you can become a demigod. After becoming a demigod, you still have a long way to go before you can become a god, let alone the path you choose.

It’s much more difficult than the normal path to becoming a god, so how could it be so easy to get through it?”

"Ancestor, you still have too little experience. Some strange things happened to me. I can't explain these things to you and I can't explain them to you. So I don't know when I might be able to leave. In order to save time, I still

I plan to explain everything here first, lest I leave suddenly and the things here are not finished. What if the world cannot get back on track because of my departure, and the world ends up being destroyed?

"

Helga: "..."

She really didn't want to hurt Jon's self-confidence, but how could a world be destroyed so easily?

Not outrageous?

But this kind of self-confidence is not a bad thing. It doesn’t matter to Helga anyway, it’s all Jon’s own business. In any case, it is a good thing for children to have this kind of self-confidence.

"Do you have anything else to do? If you have nothing else to do, go back quickly. The child has grown up and is no longer cute. I feel a little angry when I look at you now."

"..." Jon expressed helplessness at this: "Well, I've said all that needs to be said, I'm leaving first."

It was already night when we came out, and the manor was very quiet. Blair was reading in the room. His parents did not live here, but lived in the Yang Manor with their two younger brothers.

Grandma is old, she likes to be lively, and she also likes children.

Blair is no longer young.

In two years, she will enter Hogwarts to study, and at the same time, she will begin to inherit the blessings Helga left in the world. This is destined to be a bright road, but no matter how bright the road is, there will eventually be some bumps in the road.

I hope she can go on safely and smoothly.

Although she doesn't spend a particularly long time with her, this child is her sister after all.

"Brother, haven't you gone to bed yet?"

Little Blair walked out of the room, holding a cup in his hand.

"Yes, brother is still busy, what are you going to do?"

"It's time for me to go to bed and go down to get a glass of milk. Uncle Kaledi and Aunt Kaledi are busy making a new desk, so I have to pick it up myself."

Jon smiled, ruffled Blair's hair, and took the cup from the little girl's hand.

"Brother will take you to pour milk."

He held Blair's hand and walked down the stairs step by step.

In fact, this kind of life is quite good. You don't have to worry about those messy things, and you don't have to worry about problems that may arise at any time.

But, it's a pity that he can't live such a life anymore.

"Blair."

"Um?"

"If your brother leaves, will you miss him?"

"Of course I will miss my brother."

The little girl said in a sweet voice, "But why did my brother leave?"

"Because... brother has something he has to do, but he will also miss Blair."

He went to the kitchen and poured milk, then sent Blair back to her room, told her a story to coax her to sleep, and then came to the garden.

It's winter again.

But with the existence of the constant temperature magic circle, the garden is still as warm as spring.

That's pretty good.

…

Maybe this is not good at all.

Standing in the cold wind and snow, Hermione looked at the figure in front of her and finally confirmed that this person was the person she was looking for.

Because that smell appeared again.

Harry had another feeling. He had a novel feeling. Looking at this person, Hermione didn't need to pinch his arm. The possibility of this woman being a Muggle was almost zero: she stood there staring at a very tall building.

A house completely invisible to the wizard.

But even if she was a witch, it was strange that she would come out on such a cold night just to see the ruins of an old house.

Moreover, according to magical rules, she should not be able to see him and Hermione at all.

Harry had a very strange feeling, as if she knew they were here and knew who they were.

Just as he came to this disturbing conclusion, the woman raised a gloved hand and waved.

Hermione leaned against Harry under the invisibility cloak, her arm pressed against his.

"How did she know?"

He shook his head and said he didn't know.

But in fact, Hermione knew that there were special magic traces on her body, left by Jon, so that the woman could confirm her identity.

So the current situation was within her expectation.

But she couldn't show it.

The woman waved more vigorously.

Harry could think of many reasons not to obey this call, but as the two looked at each other on the empty street, his suspicions about her identity became stronger and stronger.

Could she have been waiting for their arrival these months?

Did Dumbledore ask her to wait here, saying that Harry would come one day?

Could it be that she was secretly peeping in the cemetery and following her here?

And the fact that she could feel them reminded him of some kind of Dumbledore-like power that he had never encountered before.

Finally, Harry spoke, and Hermione jumped with surprise.

"Are you Bathilda?"

The tightly wrapped figure nodded and waved again.

Under the invisibility cloak, Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows and Hermione nodded slightly nervously.

The two of them walked towards the woman, who immediately turned around and staggered back along the way they came. After passing several houses, they turned to a doorway.

They followed her down the path and through a garden almost as deserted as the one before.

She fumbled with the key at the front door for a moment, opened it, and stepped aside to let them in.

She smelled bad, or maybe it was her house: Harry wrinkled his nose as they sidled through the door and took off the Invisibility Cloak.

He stood close to her and found that she was so short and stooped with age that she just reached his chest.

She closed the door, her bruised knuckles lined with peeling paint, and then turned to look at Harry's face, her eyes sunk deep into the folds of transparent skin, filled with thick cataracts.

Her face was covered with broken blood vessels and old age.

He doubted whether the old lady could see clearly. Even if she could, she would only see the bald Muggle he was pretending to be.

The smell of old musty, dust, dirty clothes and spoiled food became even stronger. She took off the moldy black headscarf, revealing a head with sparse white hair and clearly visible hair.

"Bathilda?"

She nodded again.

Harry felt the locket against his skin, and the thing inside that sometimes ticked or beat gently woke up. He could feel it pulsing inside the cold gold shell.

Does it know, does it feel, that the thing that can destroy it is nearby?

Bathilda staggered past them, pushing Hermione aside as if she hadn't seen her, and walked into a room that seemed to be a living room.

"Harry, I'm not sure."

When things came to a close, Hermione was still nervous after all. Just in case, she remembered Jon's instructions. If that person only gave a signal, she would just take action without worrying about anything else.

But attacking an old lady still made her feel a little dangerous - of course, she knew, because Jon said that Bathilda had been dead for some time.

"Looking at her size, if that doesn't work, I think we can subdue her."

Harry said: "By the way, I should tell you, I know she is not normal, Muriel said she is always 'confused'."

"come over!"

In Harry's ears, Bathilda shouted from next door.

Hermione jumped because what she heard was not a human voice, but she didn't say anything and just grabbed Harry's arm.

If that doesn't work, just apparate.

"It's okay."

Harry comforted and walked into the living room.

Bathilda staggered about and lit candles, but the room was still dark, not to mention dirty.

Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and Harry's nose smelled something even more disgusting under the musty smell, like rotten flesh.

He wondered when the last time anyone had entered Bathilda's house to see if she was still alive.

She seemed to have forgotten that she knew magic and was clumsily lighting candles with her hands. The lace on her sleeves was in danger of catching fire at any time.

"Let me do it."

said Harry, taking the match from her hand.

She stood watching as he finished lighting candles all over the room, which stood on saucers, leaning dangerously on stacks of books or on small tables filled with moldy, broken cups.

The last place Harry saw a candle was a bow-shaped chest of drawers with many pictures on it.

After the flames jumped, the reflection flickered in the gray glass and silver frame.

He saw something moving faintly in the photo.

As Bathilda fumbled with the wood for the fire, he whispered, "The whirlwind sweeps it away."

The dust disappeared from the pictures, and he saw at once that six or seven pictures were missing. They were in the tallest and most splendid frames, and he did not know whether Bathilda or someone else had taken them away.

At this time, a photo at the back caught his eye and he picked it up.

It was the energetic blond thief in the dream, the boy perched on Grigovitch's window sill, smiling lazily at Harry in the silver frame.

Harry immediately remembered where he had seen this young man: in The Life and Lies of Dumbledore, arm in arm with young Dumbledore.

The other missing photos must be there too: in Rita's book.

"Mrs. Bagshot—ma'am?"

He asked, his voice trembling slightly: "Who is this?"

Bathilda stood in the middle of the room, watching Hermione help her light the fire.

"Ms. Bagshot?"

Harry called out again and walked over holding the picture frame, flames rising in the fireplace.

Bathilda raised her head when she heard his voice, and the Horcrux beat faster in his chest.

"Who is this guy?"

Harry asked her, handing the photo over.

She looked seriously for a moment, then looked up at Harry.

"Do you know who this is?"

He asked again, his voice slower and louder than usual: "This man? Do you know him? What is his name?"

Bathilda looked blank.

Harry was very frustrated. How did Rita Skeeter open Bathilda's memory?

"Who is this guy?"

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"This picture, Hermione, is of that thief, the Grigovitch thief! Please tell us!"

He said to Bathilda: "Who is this?"

She just stared at him blankly.

"Why did you call us here, Mrs. Bagshot—ma'am?"

Hermione blinked and raised her voice: "Is there something you want to tell us?"

Bathilda didn't seem to hear Hermione's words. She staggered a few steps toward Harry, tilted her head slightly, and looked out at the corridor.

"You want us out?"

She repeated the gesture, pointing at him, then at herself, then at the ceiling.

"Oh, okay...Hermione, I think she wants me to follow her upstairs."

"Okay," said Hermione, "let's go."