Chapter 463: Harry's Travel

At nine o'clock in the morning after Ryan and their engagement ceremony, two cyan birds flew to the place where Ryan and the others lived with parchment letters larger than them. At this time last night, they sent their parents to Ryan, who got on the plane back to Qiantang, just got up from the bed.

Hermione, the results of our previous O.W.Ls exam are out. Ryan shouted to Hermione who was tidying up in the bathroom.

What? Oh, it's finally here. I hope I do well this time. The cross-border mail across Europe and Asia plus the time to go through customs is really a bit impatient. If it was in the UK, I think we would have done it a week ago. Should have gotten those emails. Hermione wiped her wet face with a dry towel as she walked out of the bathroom.

After eagerly tearing open the envelope, the two took out the letter and read it. Their exams got ten excellent marks as expected, which means they can choose the courses they planned to take this year.

I just don't know how my friends are doing. Hermione nodded in satisfaction after reading the test results, and then asked Ryan. What do you think Harry and the others are doing now?

I don't know much about the others, but I guess Harry must have a lot of things to do, after all, as a designated savior. The holidays must not stop him from being busy. Maybe Professor Dumbledore took him out for an adventure It's over. Ryan spoiled.

The fact is also true. A week ago, Principal Dumbledore went to Privet Drive to rescue Harry from his uncle's house. After sending Harry's luggage to the Burrow, Dumbledore took Harry's entourage to a certain place. In the courtyard of an abandoned village, there is an old war memorial in the middle of the site, and several benches.

After walking with Professor Dumbledore for a while, passing an empty tavern and several houses, Harry finally couldn't hold back his inner doubts and asked, Well—Professor, where are we? What are we going to do?

This is the charming village of Budley Barberton, Harry. Dumbledore walked ahead, turned a corner, and passed a telephone booth and a bus shelter. Well, as you can see, we have a shortage of professors every year. So now we are here to persuade one of my retired colleagues to come back to work and return to Hogwarts. As for the reason for calling you, you will find out later will know.

Haali and Dumbledore then discuss his scar (Harry: Thank goodness it doesn't hurt at all.) and also say something about the recent situation. For example, the sacrifice of Emmeline Vance and the serious injury of Amelia Bones (Dumbledore: Ms. Bones was indeed lucky that day. When Voldemort was looking for her, he happened to meet Percy and his team to visit She, so lucky to survive, but I guess poor Burns is spending Halloween at St. Munger.)

They chatted and approached a neat little stone house in a garden. Dumbledore looked towards the well-tended path, and his heart sank. The hinges of the front door were open, and the door hung askew.

Harry, pull out your wand and follow me closely. Dumbledore took out his wand and whispered. At the same time, he scanned the surroundings to make sure that there was no one around, lit his wand and walked into the room quietly. Harry also held it nervously. wand.

After entering the living room along the porch, a mess appeared in front of them: a grandfather clock smashed at their feet, the clock face was cracked, and the pendulum lay a little farther away, like an abandoned sword. A piano was overturned on the ground, its keys scattered around. Nearby, fragments of a broken chandelier gleamed. The cushions were strewn about in a mess, deflated, with feathers poking out of the rips.

Broken glass and shards of china were scattered like powder. To make matters worse, the sharp-eyed Harry saw a lot of dark red sticky things splashed on the wallpaper. He followed these red things with his wand and found that even the ceiling was covered with these things.

Is this an attack? Harry thought, but after a closer look he felt something was wrong. A while ago when he was resting, he read several detective books. After reading it, Ryan criticized some of the plots in them as worthless, and also talked about some of the simplest crime scene judgments. According to what Ryan said before, Harry couldn't figure out if the situation in the room was a fierce battle, why there were so few footsteps on the floor, only some broken furniture?

You can also see that something is wrong? Harry Dumbledore said calmly, looking at the pensive Harry. I think it's just, ugh, an old friend playing a joke on us.

After speaking, with a relaxed and even increasingly naughty expression on his face, he quietly walked to the edge of a single sofa with Harry, and then poked the bulging chair of the single sofa with the tip of his wand Back, the head of a bald and fat old man suddenly popped out from the top of the back of the chair, and cried out in pain: Merlin's beard!

Soon the one-seater sofa turned into a fat old man standing there, still rubbing his stomach with his hands: You don't need to pierce so hard with the wand, Albus. It hurts me to death. Still Yes, where did I reveal my secrets?

Horace, if the Death Eaters really came, they would definitely leave the Dark Mark on the house. Dumbledore said, By the way, let me introduce to you, Harry, come and meet me. An old friend and colleague, Professor Horace Slughorn. Horace—”

I know him, Harry Potter. The old man said, looking at Harry's forehead. The recent newspapers are full of his photos. He walked to the door and locked it.

Shall I clean it up for you? Dumbledore asked politely.

Please! After speaking, the two old men waved their wands back to back in unison. The furniture jumped back to its original position one by one, the decorations returned to their original shape in mid-air, the feathers drilled back into the cushions, the fragments of the silver photo frame on the ground reorganized into photo frames and flew back to the desk, and the chandelier finally returned to the room. top. The damaged and soiled parts of the entire house have been restored to their original state, and under the re-lit lights, the house suddenly becomes warmer.

You think he can convince me, don't you? I tell you, Albus, the answer is no! said Slughorn. It's undeniable that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired The old man is entitled to a quiet life and some material comforts.

Life in hiding? Dumbledore exposed, I think they should be looking for you too.

Yes, I will be moving once in a few weeks, but Albus, look at the casualty rate of the professors in your school—are you leaving? Looking at Professor Dumbledore standing up, Sla Ghorn immediately asked expectantly.

No, I just wanted to ask if I could use your bathroom, said Dumbledore. Watching Dumbledore go away, Slughorn said to Harry who was watching him: You look a lot like your father, except for your eyes.

I know, like my mother. Harry nodded. After hearing this countless times, he felt a little bored.

Lily Evans is one of the smartest students I've ever taught. Slughorn seemed lost in memory, It's even more remarkable when you consider that she was a Muggle-born. I I often say that she should be a student of our academy, but every time I always get her unceremonious answer.

You are— I was the Head of Slytherin House at the time. He glanced at Harry as he spoke. Don't look at me that way, I'm not the kind of prejudiced person. I read the newspaper two years ago and found that two of your classmates who won the Medal of Merlin should be Muggle-born wizards, and it was the same among my favorite students back then. There are quite a few Muggle-born, for example, your mother, and Dirk Cresswell, who is one level below her, is now the director of the Goblin Liaison Office.

Speaking of this, Slughorn became excited, and pulled Harry to see him carrying a pile of photo frames on the cabinet: These are all students I have taught before, such as the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, Barnabas Guffy, who often sends his owls to get my opinion on the situation. Ambrosio Froome, who got a job because of my introduction, so now every once in a while Send me sweets and preserves. Or this one, Gwenog Jones - captain of the Holyhead Harpies, get free tickets whenever I want. Too bad I haven't seen it in ages .”

The old man looked a bit depressed: I haven't contacted any of them for a whole year. This feeling of being forgotten by the world is simply terrible.

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