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Chapter 497: Clarification
Chapter 497: Clarification
Harry still had a belly full of questions. But two weeks of boring life made him desperate to return to the magical world, especially since Hermione had given him a very tempting reason—casting without any worries. He couldn’t ask for more.
"I’ll pack my bags right away!" Harry hurriedly said.
The Dursleys were peering out the window, looking cautious and sensitive, their eyes filled with identical suspicion.
"Who is she?" When Harry entered the hallway, Uncle Vernon was the first to ask. He looked carefully at Hermione, who was standing alone near the flower bed. Even with his critical eye, he couldn’t find any loophole. "Is she—also one of your schoolmates?"
"Yep, that’s right", Harry said, passing by them and heading upstairs.
"Speak clearly! What is she doing here—did you give our address to someone else?" Uncle Vernon aggressively followed behind, finally blocking Harry’s path on the stairs. He pointed at Harry’s chest, spittle flying, "I don’t know if we’ve given you the wrong impression, but—this house—I will not allow it to become a—freaks’ camp!"
"She has a name!" Harry said irritably, "Her name is Hermione, and she’s not here to stay."
He ducked under Uncle Vernon’s arm and slipped past. "She’s here to inform me that I’m leaving. I’m going right now", Harry said, his voice barely containing his joy.
"Boy, don’t speak to me in that tone—remember, we took you in! You need to learn gratitude—"
The bedroom door shut out Uncle Vernon’s harsh voice. Harry paid no attention; he was about to go somewhere else, and a voice in his head hummed with happiness.
He looked around and suddenly noticed how messy his room was—parchment sheets were scattered on the floor, an ink bottle and a few quills lay nearby, remnants of his unfinished Astronomy homework. A wobbly nightstand held a small pile of candy, the wrappers from snacks he brought back from the train half-torn, with a Chocolate Frog’s head half-bitten. There were also books he had left lying around over the past two weeks, and Hedwig’s owl cage...
Fortunately, Hermione hadn’t come in. Harry couldn’t help but think.
He plopped down on the bed, bent down, and pulled out his trunk from under the bed. A few Muggle clothes and Wizard robes were jumbled inside, and Dobby’s socks had somehow flipped to the top, standing out prominently. Over the next few minutes, Harry stuffed the scattered books into his trunk, his mind filled with pleasant thoughts about where he was going next.
The wardrobe held some snacks, comic books, and unused textbooks. The snacks were a complete set of "Mick's Magical Misadventures" comics, and the textbooks were Gilderoy Lockhart’s series—Harry had always wanted to get rid of them. Lockhart was actually a fraud who became famous by attributing others’ stories to himself. In Harry’s second year, he had even served as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but his malicious behavior was discovered halfway through the school year, and he was imprisoned in Azkaban by the Ministry of Magic.
Harry grinned; he and Ron and Hermione had also contributed to that.
He opened the wardrobe, rolled up a pile of dirty clothes, and stuffed them into the gaps in the trunk. He then picked up a small purple booklet from beside his pillow and placed it on top of the clothes. For a moment, Harry stared at the booklet, his gaze fixed on the words on the cover—
Survival Manual for Wartime—Authorized by the Ministry of Magic: Protecting Your Home and Family from Dark Magic.
Harry held his breath and carefully opened the first page, repeatedly reading the fourth point—agree on a safety code with friends and family to identify Death Eaters using Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).
His breathing suddenly became rapid, and his mouth went dry.
Harry slowed his pace and tiptoed to the window, as if he were doing something wrong, and quickly glanced outside—Hermione was gone.
Harry’s mind went blank.
What was happening? Was Hermione a fake? He swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down.
Hermione suddenly showing up and wanting to take him somewhere wasn’t unusual; he had given her the address... but someone should have notified him, right? Sirius might have been too busy to remember, but Professor Hep shouldn’t have forgotten.
Harry felt he was overthinking it. If Hermione were a Death Eater in disguise, she would have cast a curse on him the moment she saw him, not let him go upstairs to pack... but he couldn’t shake the suspicion. What if the Death Eaters wanted him to leave willingly?
Pretending it was an accident would make it harder for investigators, and the suspicion would fall on the real Hermione.
Agreeing on a safety code with friends and family... he hadn’t even asked Hermione where they were going. He had been so overwhelmed by the sudden joy...
Polyjuice Potion... he had seen it before, but how could he identify it? He had no recollection at all.
Harry glanced out the window again, and to his surprise, Hermione had returned. And—she had clearly spotted Harry on the second floor and gave him a smile.
Where had she been? Who had she been talking to?
Harry's heart pounded.
Crookshanks, this was a strong piece of evidence... Death Eaters couldn't give Polyjuice Potion to animals; Hermione had learned that lesson before, but Harry wasn't sure if it was Transfiguration. He hadn't paid attention before.
Harry hurriedly carried his trunk and cage downstairs, the cage repeatedly bumping against the banister. Hedwig let out a disgruntled hoot. Right... Harry suddenly thought as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. He could ask someone if this was true.
But it seemed too late. If Hermione was indeed a Death Eater in disguise, she wouldn't give him much time. Even a slight delay could mean that Death Eaters and her companions might burst in at any second.
Harry stood frozen, his mind a jumbled mess.
"Boy, what are you waiting for! No one wants to keep you here!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the living room, his voice drowning out the TV program—"Goal! 1-0 lead."
Harry's expression stiffened as he turned to look at Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley. They were each occupied with their own activities, as usual. Harry's heart stirred strangely; if he was truly in danger, he could Apparate early, but that would mean the Dursleys would face an unknown risk.
Like the wrath of the Death Eaters who would find their target had vanished.
But why should he care, Harry thought, his gaze slowly scanning over the people in the living room, re-evaluating them from a different perspective...
"Dad, we're out of ice cream", Dudley's chubby arm slapped the table.
"There's plenty in the fridge, darling", Aunt Petunia said, stacking the plates.
"I want chocolate! Cho-co-late!" Dudley yelled.
"Alright, Dudders", Aunt Petunia said, her voice filled with indulgence. She put down the half-cleared table, wiped her hands, and said, "Mom will go get it, be quick. You can eat another slice of bacon in the meantime—" She started toward the door.
Harry stared at her as her hand reached for the doorknob, his heart racing.
"Don't go out", he said hoarsely.
Aunt Petunia turned back, her eyebrows quirking in surprise, her thin lips pressed into a line, and the indulgence in her eyes quickly turned cold.
"You haven't left yet", she said, turning back and placing one hand on the doorknob, twisting it hard.
"Don't go out!" Harry said, suddenly regaining his ability to move. He stepped forward and pulled Aunt Petunia away from the door, then drew his wand.
The Dursleys screamed and jumped up. "Put that thing away!" Aunt Petunia shouted.
"How dare you!" Uncle Vernon added.
Harry ignored them, carefully hiding his wand in his sleeve and peering out the window. The Dursleys were frozen in place, startled by his actions. Harry opened the door, and the noise inside clearly reached outside, as Hermione was peering around the yard.
Harry slowly walked out.
"What's wrong, haven't you finished packing yet?" Hermione asked.
"I, uh..." Harry searched for words, "I suddenly thought of something. Where are we going? Are we coming back?" He tried to sound casual, shrugging. "You know, I have a lot of stuff, it takes time to pack."
"Oh", Hermione didn't seem suspicious, "I'm not sure. Professor told me to come at seven, and said if I arrived early, we could wait at Sirius's rental house."
Harry felt slightly relieved; at least she knew there was a rental house near Sirius's place.
He couldn't help but complain, "It's only a little after five, you came too early."
Hermione huffed, "I wanted to give you time to pack, and I've never been here before. My parents were worried I might not find the place, but it was surprisingly easy—"
"My parents?" Harry exclaimed.
"Yes", Hermione looked down the street, and Harry followed her gaze to see a small car parked on the road. He recognized two familiar figures. If his memory served him right, they were Mr. Granger and Mrs. Granger.
"You told me the Dursleys were so unfriendly", Hermione pursed her lips, "I thought—having too many people at the door might cause trouble for you."
"Very considerate", Harry stammered, all his doubts cleared. But now he didn't know how to explain this to the Dursleys. He turned his head nervously, and through the large living room window, he could vaguely see two round shapes huddled together, making Aunt Petunia look small and pitiful, like a coat draped over Dudley.
Harry stood there for a moment, his open mouth closing, and he waved his hand, looking dejected.
“I’ll go get my luggage,” he said in a dejected tone.
Harry returned to the living room, where the trunk and the birdcage were still sitting untouched on the floor. The Dursleys huddled in one corner, just as he had seen from outside. Harry silently picked up the cage with one hand and gripped the handle of the trunk with the other, silently praying that everything would be back to normal.
“Boy! Explain yourself! What kind of trick are you pulling?” Uncle Vernon bellowed, trying to shield Aunt Petunia and Dudley behind him while glaring at Harry. But his efforts were in vain; anyone could easily see Dudley, who looked like a young whale, standing behind him.
Aunt Petunia, her face flushed, seemed to be struggling for breath.
“I—I misunderstood,” Harry said dryly. “The wizarding world isn’t peaceful these days. I have to be careful. That person is back.”
“Who are you talking about?” Uncle Vernon asked.
“Voldemort,” Harry said in a hollow voice. Let me go… don’t ask any more questions… you wouldn’t understand…
“Voldemort—what?” Uncle Vernon shook his head, trying to look thoughtful.
“Back?” Aunt Petunia asked softly from behind, “That… murderer… he’s back?”
Uncle Vernon looked at his wife, then at Harry, and a look of realization slowly dawned on his face. “I’ve heard that name before. He’s the one who—”
The one who killed Harry’s parents.
But no one answered him.
Harry stared at Aunt Petunia. At first, he felt only a strange sense of absurdity—Voldemort, the one who struck fear into the hearts of wizards and was never spoken of by name, was being called a murderer by the Muggle he despised the most, a housewife. But from the fear in Aunt Petunia’s wide, pale eyes, Harry vaguely realized that in this house, he wasn’t the only one who understood the implications of Voldemort’s return.
Aunt Petunia looked at him with a strange expression, one she had never given him before. This made Harry very uncomfortable. The air in the room seemed to suffocate him. He picked up Hedwig’s cage and his trunk and quickly left 4 Privet Drive.
“Let’s go,” Harry said, breathing heavily, to Hermione.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, taking Harry’s cage. Hedwig, who had been roughly handled, was dazed and disoriented in the cage. Her once bright and authoritative amber eyes were now dull, and she made an angry noise.
“Nothing,” Harry said.
“You look like you’ve just been in a fight.”
“I—let’s talk on the way,” Harry said.
Mr. Granger got out of the car and helped Harry load the luggage into the trunk. “Thanks—let me carry the cage,” Harry said nervously, sitting in the backseat with Hermione, almost squishing Crookshanks, who jumped onto Hermione’s lap and meowed at him.
Harry didn’t notice that the Grangers were also silent, their minds heavy with thoughts.
“Where to next?” Mr. Granger asked in a hoarse voice.
“Just around the corner, it’s not far,” Harry said. Then he heard a low sob.
Harry looked up and saw Mrs. Granger wiping her eyes in the rearview mirror. The atmosphere in the car was even more oppressive than at 4 Privet Drive. He couldn’t figure out what was going on and could only look at Hermione, who shook her head slightly, her eyes red.
The car stopped in front of a small red house.
Harry got out of the car with Hedwig’s cage, took out his and Hermione’s luggage from the trunk, and walked to the front door. But no one followed him. He turned around to see the Grangers hugging their daughter tightly.
Harry suddenly understood the strange atmosphere in the car—Hermione’s parents had known about Voldemort’s return for some time, and they had almost witnessed the event firsthand. While Harry had spent two uneventful weeks at Privet Drive, the Grangers had been under immense psychological strain, worrying about their daughter.
Finally, Hermione separated from her parents. She watched them get into the car, which started and disappeared around the corner.
Hermione stood motionless, staring at where the car had disappeared. After a long moment, she wiped her eyes and dragged her suitcase toward Harry.
“This is the house Sirius rented?” Hermione asked gloomily.
“Yes—Hermione, you could stay at home for two months,” Harry said, mustering his courage. “You’re different from me—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry! Knowing a war is coming and doing nothing?” Hermione interrupted him, her tone fierce. “I don’t want to die in this war.”
(End of Chapter)
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