HP Approaches the Magical World

You can search "HP Approaching the Magic World Shuhaige Novel Network (www.shg.tw)" in Baidu to find the latest chapter!

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 crunch of broken china under his feet: because he didn't see a cup of herbal tea lying on the floor outside his bedroom door, he stepped on it.

"how--?"

Harry looked around. The landing was empty.

This cup of tea was probably Dudley's own cleverness, trying to play a prank on him.

With his bleeding hand held high, Harry picked up the fragments of the teacup with the other and threw them into the already full bin behind the bedroom door.

Then he crossed the room into the bathroom and ran his fingers under the tap to rinse.

Four days without magic, it's stupid, pointless, annoying...

But he had to admit that the deep gash on his finger must have made him less comfortable.

He'd never learned how to mend wounds, and thinking about it now—especially thinking about his next steps—it seemed like a serious flaw in his magical education.

As he secretly decided to ask Hermione this question next time, he took a large wad of toilet paper and wiped off the tea stains on the floor as much as possible, then went back to the bedroom and closed the door hard.

In the morning, Harry completely emptied his school box for the first time since he packed it six years ago.

In the past, every time school started, he would replace and renew the top three-quarters of the box, but there was always a layer of messy debris at the bottom of the box—old quills, withered beetle eyes, which were too old to fit. Right socks.

A few minutes ago, when Harry put his hand into this layer of debris, he felt a sharp pain in the ring finger of his right hand. When he pulled it out, he found that he was bleeding profusely.

Now he moves more cautiously.

He knelt down beside the box again, groped carefully at the bottom, and pulled out a battered badge with alternately flashing words in support of Cedric Diggory and Potter's stinky dung;

Then he produced a battered and cracked looking-glass and a gold locket containing a note signed R.A.B., and finally found the sharp knife that had cut his finger.

He recognized it at once. It was the fragment of the magic mirror that Sirius had given him, and it was two inches long.

Harry set it aside and carefully searched the box for other fragments, but all that remained of the godfather's last gift were bits and pieces of glass stuck to the bottom of the box like glistening grit.

Harry straightened up and studied the jagged shard that had scratched his finger, seeing only his own bright green eyes in it.

He put the broken lens on the unread copy of the Daily Prophet that had just arrived on the bed that morning, and turned to deal with the remaining garbage in the box, trying to fight back the sudden rush of painful memories, those that were born. The heart-wrenching regret and longing caused by the broken lens.

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

House robes, Quidditch robes, cauldrons, parchment, quills, and most of the textbooks were piled up in one corner and left at home.

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

His Muggle clothes, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kits, a few books, and the photo album Hagrid had given him earlier, a stack of letters, and his wand were stored in an old knapsack.

Tucked into the front pocket of the pack were the Marauder's Map and the gold locket with a note signed by the R.A.B.

The locket is placed in such an important position not because of its preciousness-it is worthless, conventionally-but because of the price paid to acquire it.

Or rather, because of Dumbledore.

He once thought he knew Dumbledore very well, but at the same time he had to admit,

He knew next to nothing about Dumbledore.

He had never imagined Dumbledore's childhood and youth, and it seemed that Dumbledore had suddenly become the man Harry knew him to be, old and white-bearded and hair-haired.

It always feels weird to think of Dumbledore as a boy, like imagining a dull-witted Hermione, or a friendly wreck.

It never occurred to him to ask about Dumbledore's past.

— that would seem awkward, even presumptuous, but Dumbledore took part in that legendary duel with Grindelwald — a well-known fact, and it didn't occur to Harry to ask Dumbledore situation, and did not ask him about his other famous achievements.

They were always talking about Harry, Harry's past, Harry's future, Harry's plans...

And now Harry felt that while his future was indeed in danger and uncertainty, his lost chance could never be recovered: he asked Dumbledore no more about himself, and the only one he asked the Headmaster Personal question, but the only one he suspected Dumbledore hadn't answered honestly:

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

"Me? I see myself holding a pair of thick wool socks."

After thinking for a few minutes, Harry tore the obituary out of the Daily Prophet, carefully folded it, and inserted it into Volume One of Practical Defensive Magic and Its Restraint against the Dark Arts.

He threw the rest of the newspaper on the trash heap and turned to look across the room.

The room is much tidier, the only thing that is out of place is that day's "Daily Prophet", which is still spread out on the bed, with the broken lens on it.

Harry walked over, shook the shattered lens off that day's Daily Prophet, and unfolded the paper.

In the morning he took the rolled newspaper from the owl postman, glanced at the headlines, saw no news from Voldemort, and tossed it aside.

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

Only then did he realize what he had missed.

A new report.

The interview with Rita Skeeter about Dumbledore is obviously a lot of fabricated content, but no one cares about it, Voldemort puts too much pressure on everyone, everyone wants to find opportunities relax for a moment.

Dumbledore's anecdote may not be the best choice, but it must be a good choice.

It was just that Harry was in a bad mood, but no one cared what he thought.

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

This was really a frustrating thing, he looked at the lens inside in a daze, and suddenly heard a muffled sound.

The sound of the front door slamming was carried upstairs, and a man shouted, "Hey! You!"

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

He was still staring at the shattered glass, in which, for a split second, he had seen Dumbledore's eyes.

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

"What are you dawdling about?" Seeing Harry appearing at the stairs, Vernon Dursley shouted angrily again: "Come down quickly, I have something to say!"

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

He went into the living room and found the three Dursleys there, all dressed for travel: Uncle Vernon in a fawn zip-up jacket, Aunt Petunia in a simple pale orange top, Harry The big, blond, muscular cousin, Dudley, was wearing a leather jacket.

"What's up?"

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

"Please!" Uncle Vernon hurriedly said, frowning, as if the word had stabbed his throat.

Harry had basically guessed what it was.

He thought about it when his uncle started pacing up and down the room, and Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed him with their eyes and looked worried.

But he didn't speak, just waiting for the other party to speak.

Finally, Vernon stopped in front of Harry, his big purple face wrinkled into a ball, and spoke.

"I've changed my mind."

"It's amazing."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, but his tone was obviously not very good either.

"Don't use that tone—"

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

"It's all deceitful nonsense," Uncle Vernon stared at Harry with a pair of piggy eyes: "I decided not to believe a word of it, we're not leaving, we're not going anywhere."

Harry looked up at his uncle, annoyed and amused.

For the past four weeks, Vernon Dursley had had to change his mind every twenty-four hours, and every time he changed his mind he had to go through a lot of work, loading luggage into the car, unloading it, and loading it back up again.

What Harry thought was the cutest thing was that Uncle Vernon wanted to put the luggage back into the trunk of the car, but he didn't know that Dudley had put the dumbbells in the luggage this time, and he fell to the ground, angry and hurt, and cursed.

"According to you," said Vernon Dursley now, pacing the living room again, "we—Petunia, Dudley and I—are all in danger. The danger comes from—from— —”

"Some of 'our kind,' yes."

"Hmph, 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 matter, it must be a conspiracy to occupy the house."

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

"This house!" screamed Uncle Vernon, the veins in his brow starting to throb: "Our house! House prices around here are going up so much!

You want to send us away, and then play some tricks, and before we know it, the name on the deed will become your—"

"Are you confused?" Harry asked. "Conspiring to take over the house? Are you as stupid as you seem?"

"how dare you--!"

Aunt Petunia screamed, and Vernon waved her shut again, as if a few insults to her appearance were nothing compared to the danger he saw through.

"I'm afraid you forgot," said Harry, "I already have a house, my godfather left it to me. What would I want this house for? For all the good old days?"

silence.

Harry thought his uncle had been overwhelmed by his words, so he didn't continue.

"You claim," said Uncle Vernon, pacing again, "that the devil—"

"—Voldemort," said Harry impatiently, "we've discussed this a hundred times. Not a claim, but a fact. Dumbledore told you last year that Kingsley and Mr. Weasley— —”

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

A few days after Harry's summer vacation, two adult wizards came to visit unexpectedly.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley appeared at the door, giving the Dursleys a very unpleasant startle.

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

"—Kingsley and Mr. Weasley have also explained," Harry continued unmoved: "As soon as I turn seventeen, the spell protecting my safety will be lifted, and you and I will be exposed." .

The Order of the Phoenix believes that Voldemort will target you, or torture you, ask me where I am, or think that I will rush to rescue you if you are held hostage. "

Uncle Vernon's and Harry's eyes met.

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

Then Uncle Vernon started pacing again, and Harry went on to say, "You have to hide, and the Order of the Phoenix is ​​willing to help and provide you with the best and strictest protection."

Uncle Vernon did not speak, but continued to pace up and down.

Outside, the sun hangs low over the privet hedge, and the next-door neighbor's lawnmower is dead again.

"Isn't there a Ministry of Magic?"

"good."

"Then why can't they protect us?

In my opinion, we, as innocent victims who have done nothing wrong except adopt a suspect, should be protected by the government! "

Harry laughed.

He couldn't help laughing, that's what my uncle was, always pinning his hopes on the powerful, even in a world he hated and didn't trust.

"You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said," Harry replied. "We think the Ministry has got bad people in it."

Uncle Vernon strode to the fireplace and back again, panting heavily, his bushy black mustache undulating, his big face still flushed purple.

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

Harry tried his best not to roll his eyes, because the question had already been asked six or seven times.

"I told you," Harry said through gritted teeth, "Kingsley is protecting Ma—I mean your Prime Minister."

The latest chapter address of HP Approaching the Magic World: www.shg.tw/shu_86418.html

HP Approaches the Magic World full text reading address: www.shg.tw/86418/

HP Approaches the Magic World txt download address: www.shg.tw/txt_86418.html

HP Approaches the Magic World Mobile phone reading: m.shg.tw/86418/

For the convenience of reading next time, you can click "Favorite" below to record the reading record of this (Chapter 868 Negotiation), and you can see it next time you open the bookshelf!

If you like "HP Approaching the Magic World", please recommend this book to your friends (QQ, blog, WeChat, etc.), thank you for your support! ! (www.shg.tw)