HP Magic Biography

"Am looking forward to?"

"Of course." Harry nodded, responding to Fanlin's question.

Leaving the Dursleys and coming to the Burrow, or the ancestral home of the Black family, is what he dreams of. But, obviously, Harry prefers the Burrow to the atmosphere of the Black family ancestral home. , Obviously made Harry more at ease at Ron's house.

In fact, considering safety, it is obviously unreasonable to use the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix as the subject of strict supervision by the Ministry of Magic. And with something as big as Voldemort, it is obviously not a reliable idea to let Harry himself in the Muggle world, naturally, the Burrow has become a good choice.

Without going further, a few people walked into the back door of the Burrow. There were piles of old high boots and rusty old crucibles familiar to both Fanlin and Harry. Harry could even hear the sound from a distance. The chirps of sleepy chicks from the chicken coop.

This time made Harry feel a little dreamy, but in some respects, it seemed extremely real, such as Fanlin standing next to him, or Dumbledore who was walking forward.

Dumbledore knocked three times on the door, and then Harry saw a sudden movement behind the kitchen window.

"Who is it?" a nervous voice asked, and Harry heard Mrs. Weasley. "Report your name!"

"It's me, Dumbledore, we are back."

The door opened immediately. The chunky Mrs. Weasley was standing there in an old green dressing gown.

"Harry, dear! My God, Albus, you scared me, can't you say that you and Fanlin can't come back?"

"We are lucky," Dumbledore crossed the threshold. "Slahorn is easier to persuade than I thought. Of course Harry also helped. Ah, hello, Nifadora!"

Harry looked around the room and realized that even though it was late, Mrs. Weasley was not alone. Next to the table sat a young witch with a heart-shaped face. She was pale and was holding a large cup in her hand.

"Hello, Professor," she said. "Hello, Harry and Fanlin."

"Hi, Tonks." Harry thought she looked haggard, even sick, and smiled reluctantly. Without her usual bubblegum-like pink hair, she didn't look as glamorous as before.

Harry wanted to say something, but Fanlin took the lead in holding him, beckoning him not to speak too much, which made Harry somewhat incomprehensible, but then Tonks' actions made Harry even more confused.

"I should go," Tonks said quickly, standing up and putting his cloak on his shoulders. "Thank you for your tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Oh, please don't leave for my sake," Dumbledore said politely. "I can't stay long. I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I really want to go," Tonks avoided Dumbledore's eyes. "good night--"

"Honey, come over for dinner this weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming over—?"

"No, really, Molly... anyway, thank you... good night, everyone."

Tonks hurried past Dumbledore and walked out the door without looking back; after a few steps out of the house, he disappeared into the thin air, which made Tonks look like he was amnesty? Escape here?

Harry was a little confused, and Harry also noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked worried.

"Well, let's meet again at Hogwarts, Harry, Fanlin," Dumbledore said. "Take care of yourself. Molly, I am always waiting for your call."

Dumbledore bowed to Mrs. Weasley, and then disappeared in the same place as Tonks. Mrs. Weasley closed the door, pulled Harry into the light of the lantern, and leaned Harry's shoulders with both hands to examine his appearance.

"You're the same as Ron," she sighed, eyeing him up and down. "You're all under the elongation curse. I dare to swear Ron is four inches longer than the last time I bought him a robe. Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry suddenly realized how hungry he was. "Sit down, honey, I'll get some food."

Harry was sitting, and a cat with **** hair and a big flat face jumped onto Fanlin's knee next to him, curled up there and snored. "So Hermione is here too?" He scratched behind Crookshanks' ears happily.

"Of course..." Fanlin rolled his eyes. "In fact, Hermione and I just arrived here the day before yesterday. Compared to Modric 12, the Burrow is obviously more suitable for us to appear. After all, Voldemort has returned. We are on the opposite side and always have to give the Ministry of Magic some information."

"Information, what you said..."

"The Burrow is protected by the Ministry of Magic," Fanlin said, rubbing Crookshank's head. "We have to do something for the Ministry, otherwise they won't even find a place to resist."

"So, this place became the Order of the Phoenix..."

"Oh, it's just a branch. In fact, it's almost the same as the headquarters. After all, some of the things listed above are decided here, and Sirius..." Fanlin looked at Mrs. Weasley, "Some secrets. It’s still to decide where Sirius is, for example..."

Mrs. Weasley's voice was louder. She tapped a large tin can with her magic wand: it jumped onto the stove with a bang, and immediately began to bubble.

"In fact, everyone is asleep, and we didn't expect you to be there in a few hours. Take—"

In mid-air, the tin can flew up to Harry and tilted; Mrs. Weasley squeezed a bowl and caught the thick onion soup pouring out of the can, still breathing hot. Similarly, Mrs. Weasley took another bowl for Fanlin.

"Do you want bread, dear?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley." She raised her wand and waved it; a piece of bread and a knife fell gracefully on the table. The bread cut automatically and the jar returned to the stove, so Mrs. Weasley naturally sat across from Harry.

It is obviously impossible to continue talking with Fanlin. Harry knows Mrs. Weasley's attitude. To be precise, it is forbidden to talk to Harry about the Order of the Phoenix?

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Weasley." Fanlin picked up a piece of bread, then took a bite, and refused to admit what he said before.

Harry also knew how to drink soup silently, and Mrs. Weasley was sitting across from him. Could he expect them to talk about Dumbledore's plans here?

"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take this job?"

Harry's mouth was filled with warm soup, so he just nodded.

"He taught Arthur and me," Mrs. Weasley said. "He used to teach at Hogwarts for a long time. I think he probably went to Hogwarts with Dumbledore. What do you think of him?"

Harry's mouth was now filled with bread again, so he shrugged and moved his head uncertainly.

"I know what you mean," Mrs. Weasley nodded shrewdly. "Of course, as long as he wants to, he can still be very attractive, but Arthur never liked him. The ministry is full of Slughorn's proud students. He is always good at providing help, but he never has the time. Help Arthur-he doesn't seem to think Arthur is an aspiring person. However, that only shows that even Slughorn can make mistakes. I don't know if Ron told you in his letter- It just happened-Arthur was promoted!"

It couldn't be clearer, Mrs. Weasley had been eager to say this. Harry swallowed a gulp of hot soup, feeling that his throat was going to be hot and blistering.

"That's great!" he gasped.

"You are so kind," Mrs. Weasley looked very happy, and she wiped her wet eyes. "Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has established several new departments in response to the current situation. Arthur is now leading the counterfeit defensive spells and protective object detection and collection office. This is a big job. There are already ten people now!"

"That is--?" "Well, you know, due to the panic of the mysterious people, strange objects that claim to be able to defend against the mysterious people and Death Eaters are constantly being peddled out. You can imagine what it is--the so-called The protective potion is actually the broth with Babbo tuber pus, and the tutorials on the defensive curses, which actually only get your ears off... well, generally the criminals are like People like Mondungus Fletcher, who have never done serious things for a day in their entire lives, will only use people’s fears to bluff and deceive. But from time to time, there are really serious things happening. Arthur also confiscated them a few days ago. A group of speculums that are likely to be cursed are almost certainly placed by a Death Eater. Obviously, this is a very important job. I also told him not to foolishly let go of checking spark plugs and toasting bread. Machine and all Muggle waste of that kind."

Mrs. Weasley glanced at Harry with a grim expression, as if Harry suggested that Mr. Weasley let go of the spark plug.

But in fact, Mr. Weasley still hasn't got any high-level jobs. This is still Mr. Weasley's job before, eh, dealing with Muggle accidents?

It's just that this time Mr. Weasley expanded his inspection scope.

Thankless work can easily offend people...

"Is Mr. Weasley still at work?" Harry asked, apparently Mrs. Weasley wanted to tell him this.

"Yeah. Actually, it's a bit late...he said he would be back around midnight..." She turned her head and looked at the big clock, which was awkwardly stacked on a laundry basket full of sheets at the end of the table. Above.

Harry recognized it immediately: there were nine hands, each with the name of a family member engraved on it. It was usually hung on the wall of the Weasley’s living room, and its current location indicated Mrs. Weasley. Always take it with me tonight. Each pointer points to "life-threatening."

"It's been like that for a while," Mrs. Weasley said in a less convincing, relaxed tone. "It's since the return of the mysterious man. I think maybe everyone is in danger... I don’t think this is the only thing in our house... but I don’t know who else has a clock like this, so I can’t verify it, oh!"

She exclaimed suddenly and pointed to the clock face. Mr. Weasley's pointer turned to "on the road."

"He is coming back!"

After a while, there was a knock on the back door. Mrs. Weasley jumped up and hurried over; she put one hand on the doorknob and asked softly, "Arthur, is that you?"

"Yes," it was Mr. Weasley's tired voice. "But I would answer like that if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask questions!"

"Oh, frankly..."

"Molly!"

"Okay, okay... what is your biggest ambition?"

"Find out why the plane can fly in the sky."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned the door handle, but Mr. Weasley apparently held it tightly on the other side of the door because the door was still tightly closed.

"Molly! I must ask you questions first!"

"Arthur, really, it would be silly..."

"How do you like me to call you when we are alone?" Even in such a dim light, Harry could still see Mrs. Weasley's face turning red; he himself suddenly felt flushed, so he swallowed hurriedly. Take a bite of the soup and stroke the spoon in the bowl as loudly as possible.

"Baby Molly," Mrs. Weasley said in a voice that couldn't be further sewn into the door.

"Correct," Mr. Weasley said. "Now you can let me in." Mrs. Weasley opened the door, and her husband, a thin, fading wizard, was standing outside, with the few red hair on his head, still wearing Wearing a pair of **** glasses, he wore a long, dusty travel cloak.

"I still don't understand why you have to come back every time you go home," Mrs. Weasley said, her face flushed when she helped her husband take off the cloak.

"I mean, a Death Eater may have tortured him to confess before pretending to be you."

"I know, my dear, but this is the procedure required by the ministry, and I have to set an example. It smells so delicious--is it onion soup?"

Mr. Weasley turned his face to the table expectantly.

"Aha, Harry, Fanlin, I thought you were only here in the morning!"

"Oh, in fact, the process is much smoother than expected." Fanlin shrugged helplessly, shook his hand with Mr. Weasley, and then Harry. This is inevitable, Mr. Weasley. Always like to do this, for example, go through some Ministry of Magic procedures?

In fact ~www.wuxiaspot.com~ that is not necessary at all, but Fanlin thinks it is very interesting. Going back to Hermione's room, and then you want to enter the door and ask some questions first?

Mr. Weasley took out a chair next to him and sat down, and Mrs. Weasley also served him a bowl of onion soup.

"Thank you, Molly. Tonight is really tough. Some idiots started selling some disguise badges. You can change your appearance at will as long as you hang them around your neck. It is said that with ten gallons, you can get thousands of disguise !"

"Then what actually happens after you hang them around your neck?"

"Most people only turn into an annoying orange, but a few have tentacle-like tumors all over their bodies. It seems that St. Mungo is too busy."

"Sounds like the kind of thing Fred and George like," Mrs. Weasley said hesitantly. "Are you sure not—"

"Of course I am sure!" Mr. Weasley said. "The two of them won't do this kind of thing when people are busy seeking protection!"

"Speaking of, Fanlin, this is what you are good at, right..." Mr. Weasley asked, "for example, the disguise necklace."

"Oh, yes." Fanlin nodded. "However, just making more than ten golden gallons, and it takes a lot of time..." Fanlin not only worried about the deceived, but lost the least because of fear. Of judgment?

A solidified disguise Animagus, no matter what you think, this is also a very precious item.

"So that's why you came back late, disguise badge?"

"Of course not. We also heard that someone put a tempering curse on the elephant castle. Luckily we got there and found that the Magic Law Enforcement Team had found it..."

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