HP Approaches the Magical World

Jon also met someone.

Also a woman.

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

But that's not the case.

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

The gods always keep their beautiful appearance.

After all, a young god and an old god, trust is to make a choice with your feet.

"So you're here to say goodbye, and by the way, I'm the last one, aren't you?"

"Important people are always in the back. Regarding this, I think you should be convinced."

"Maybe I will believe in others, but you have too many ghost ideas, who can tell what you are doing?

Besides, the fact that you came to me to bid farewell suddenly is outrageous in itself. Although your strength has grown very fast, it is not normal if your strength does not grow fast with the addition of things like the magic network.

But even if the growth rate of this power is maintained, you still have a period of 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 is much more difficult than the normal road to becoming a god, how could it be so easy to get through it? "

"Ancestor, you still have too little knowledge. Some strange things have 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 may be able to leave. In order to save time, I still I plan to explain all the things here first, lest I leave suddenly, and the things here are still unfinished. What if the world cannot get on the right track because of my departure, and the world will eventually be destroyed? "

Helga: "..."

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

Isn't it outrageous?

But this kind of self-confidence is not a bad thing, anyway, Helga doesn't care, it's all Jon's own business, anyway, it's a good thing for the child to have such self-confidence.

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"Do you have anything else to do? If you have nothing else to do, go back quickly. The child has grown up and is not cute anymore. I am a little angry when I look at you now."

"..." Jon expressed helplessness to this: "Well, anyway, I have finished what I have to say, so I will go first."

It was already night when he came out, and the manor was very quiet. Blair was reading a book in the room. His parents did not live here, but lived in Yang's manor with his two younger brothers.

My grandmother is old and likes to be more lively, and also likes children.

Blair is no longer young.

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

I hope she can go on safely and smoothly.

Although the time spent with him is not particularly long, this child is his sister after all.

"Brother, are you still asleep?"

Little Blair came out of the room with a cup in his hand.

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

"It's time for me to go to bed. I'm going down to get a glass of milk. Uncle and Aunt Calledy are busy making a new desk, so I'm going to fetch it myself."

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

"Brother will take you to pour milk."

He took 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.

However, it is a pity that he cannot live such a life.

"Blair."

"Um?"

"If my brother leaves, will you miss my brother?"

"Of course I miss my brother."

The little girl said childishly, "But why did brother leave?"

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

He went to the kitchen to pour the milk, then took Blair back to the room, told Blair a story to put her to sleep, and then came to the garden.

Another winter.

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

That's fine.

...

Maybe that's 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 one she was looking for.

Because of that smell, it reappeared.

Harry had another feeling, he had a novel feeling, looking at this person, without Hermione pinching his arm, the possibility of this woman being a Muggle was almost zero: she was standing there staring at a very A house completely invisible to wizards.

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

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

Harry had a very strange feeling, as though she knew they were there, and who they were.

Just as he was reaching this unsettling conclusion, the woman raised a gloved hand in a beckoning gesture.

Hermione leaned against Harry under the Invisibility Cloak, her arm pressed against his.

"How does she know?"

He shook his head, saying he didn't know.

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

So the current situation is within her expectation.

It's just that she can't show it.

The woman beckoned even more vigorously.

Harry could think of many reasons not to heed the call, but his suspicions about her identity grew stronger as the two stared at each other in the empty street.

Had she been waiting for them all these months?

Did Dumbledore tell her to wait here, saying that Harry would come someday?

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

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

Finally, Harry spoke, and Hermione jumped.

"Are you Bathilda?"

The tightly wrapped figure nodded and waved again.

Under the cloak, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, Harry raised an eyebrow, Hermione nodded nervously.

The two walked toward the woman, who turned immediately and staggered back the way they had come, past a few houses, and turned to a doorway.

They followed her into the path, through a garden almost as deserted as the previous one.

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

She smelled bad, or her house: Harry wrinkled his nose as they sidled through the door and took off the cloak.

He stood next to her and found that she was so small, so old that she was bent, just reaching his chest.

She closed the door, her bruised knuckles against peeling paint, and turned to look at Harry's face, eyes sunken in folds of transparent skin with thick cataracts.

Her face is covered with choppy veins and old man's class.

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

The smell of old musty, dusty, dirty clothes, and spoiled food intensified. She unbuttoned her moldy black turban, revealing a head with thinning white hair that was clearly visible.

"Bathilda?"

She nodded again.

Harry felt the locket against his skin, the sometimes ticking or pulsating thing inside woke up, he could feel it pulsating inside its cold golden shell.

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

Bathilda staggered past them, pushing Hermione aside as if she didn't see them, and entered what appeared to be a living room.

"Harry, I'm not sure."

When things came to an end, Hermione was still nervous after all. Just in case, she remembered Jon's instructions. If only that person gave a signal, she would do it directly and don't care about anything else.

But attacking an old lady still felt a little dangerous to her—of course, she knew, because Jon had said that Bathilda had been dead for a while.

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

Harry said, "By the way, I should have told you, I knew she wasn't quite right, and Muriel said she was always 'confused'."

"come over!"

Inside Harry's ear, Bathilda shouted from the next door.

Hermione jumped because the voice she heard was not human, but she said nothing and just grabbed Harry's arm.

If that doesn't work, just Apparate directly.

"It's okay."

Harry reassured, walking into the living room.

Bathilda staggered up and down to light a candle, but the room was still dark, not to mention dirty.

Thick dust smacked under their feet, and Harry's nose smelled something more disgusting under the musty smell, like rotting flesh.

He wondered when the last time someone had walked into Bathilda's house to see if she was alive.

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

"Let me do it."

said Harry, taking the matches from her.

She stood watching as he finished lighting candles all over the house, standing on little saucers, perilously perched on piles of books or on little tables full of musty, broken cups.

The last place Harry saw candles was a bowed chest of drawers with a lot of pictures on it.

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

He saw something moving faintly in the photo.

As Bathilda fumbled for logs to light the fire, he said softly, "The whirlwind sweeps away."

The dust had vanished from the photographs, and he saw at once that six or seven photographs were missing, those in the tallest and most ornate frame, and whether Bathilda or someone else had taken them.

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

It was the beaming blond thief in the dream, the teenager perched on Gregorovitch's window sill, smiling lollingly at Harry in the silver frame.

Harry immediately remembered where he had seen the boy: arm in arm with boy Dumbledore in The Life and Lies of Dumbledore.

The other missing pictures 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 yelled again, and walked over with the picture frame in his hand, and the fireplace burst into flames.

Bathilda lifted her head at the sound of his voice, the horcrux beating faster against his chest.

"Who is this guy?"

Harry asked her, handing her the photograph.

She watched gravely for a moment, then looked up at Harry.

"Do you know who this is?"

He asked again, in a much slower and louder voice than usual: "This man? Do you know him? What's 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 the thief, the Gregorovich 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 anything you want to tell us?"

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

"You want us out?"

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

"Oh, yes... Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her."

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