MTL - 94 Diagon Alley-Chapter 202 Festival
Green Light and his mother's pleading voice...
"As a parent," Harry said, "you should never leave your child unless—unless you have to."
"Harry—" Hermione stretched out a soothing hand, but he shook it off with a shrug. He had talked to Lupin about their school days, hoping to restore faith in James, and Lupin comforted him. Now Lupin's pained, pale face seemed to be swaying before him, and a wave of remorse welled up inside him, and he felt very uncomfortable. Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke, but Harry thought they must be looking at each other behind him, communicating silently.
He turned around and saw them both hurriedly looking away.
"I know I shouldn't call him a coward."
"You shouldn't," said Ron immediately.
"But he acts like a coward."
"But..." said Hermione.
"I know," said Harry, "but if it gets him back to Tonks, it's worth it, isn't it?"
He couldn't remove the plea from his tone. Hermione looked sympathetic, Ron was noncommittal. Harry looked down at his feet, thinking of his father. Would James support what Harry said to Lupin, or would he be angry that his son treated his old friend like that?
The sky in England is as black as indestructible ink. Maybe the Savior Squad will take some time to digest their argument with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but at this point, Cedric is carrying a portrait of Armando Dippet up the stairs at 12 Grimmauld Place. attic.
"I brought him here. I didn't expect the girl to move so fast." The handsome Hufflepuff complained panting at the bedside. And that portrait was hung on the low wall in the attic opposite the bed.
The road ahead is difficult
"Still useless?" Fred asked sullenly.
"Not even a decent curse." George picked up the hat on the floor, where the poor mouse had passed out with its tongue stuck out. "Guess the Death Eaters will be more tender-hearted than me?"
"Maybe it's the subject's problem, the mouse is too weak." Fred shook the mouse's tail, "I knew we should bring the ghouls together..."
The twins who experienced the third failed experiment screamed in one of the bedrooms of Aunt Muriel's house. He was soon chased and beaten by an old woman with a cane because they were "too noisy".
The two who hid in the broom finally escaped, and when they heard the thud of the crutches go away, they struggled to climb out of the staggering number of spider webs.
"We've never been to this room." Fred saw a tightly locked door beside the broom room with ancient and complicated magic patterns painted on the door.
"We swore to be polite guests." George brushed the dust off his body, but also stared intently at the wooden door.
"It's not us if we follow the rules honestly." Fred said nonchalantly, took out his wand, and cast a spell known as "the thief's friend".
"It doesn't seem to work." George pushed the door that didn't move, "It's not surprising that Aunt Muriel's house is full of antiques and magic older than her. ?"
Fred's eyes flashed dangerously, "That's not good, now I'm more interested in what's behind the door."
"Guess what, bro." George touched his trousers pocket and pulled out a thin hairpin. "Often the Muggles are more effective than wizards at this point."
"Fantastic." Fred cheered a little, "Come on, before she finds out."
Gwen once told George that she believed that the reason wizards failed to rule the world, and even had to be cautiously secluded, was largely due to their overconfidence and absolute dependence on magic.
For example, the magical wooden door in front of the twins, and the lock cylinder engraved with dense magic patterns, and finally only a small hairpin was used, and it was stabbed open in three or two times.
"Wow." George, who entered the room first, sighed, and turned to his brother, "Is it too late to go out now?"
"Uh..." Fred was also a little disappointed, "It's actually a broken study?"
Yes, this locked room is filled with bookcases on three walls, most of which are old and crumbling.
"Close the door, George." Fred whispered, "My sharp eyes saw an old book about magic armor."
George hurriedly closed the door gently, and blinked his eyes to search in the bookcase.
Two hours later.
"I didn't expect a day like this." George sighed. "The two of us—the Weasley genius—sit in a small library—read seriously."
"We've grown." Fred said smugly, "Look, when the defense items are ready, they have to give us a Merlin medal."
"First class." George threw a book into Fred's arms, "It says it can turn clothes into a close-fitting shield."
"It's so embarrassing." Fred clicked his tongue twice, "Profound magic—not yet productive."
"Alas," George lay on the rug with his hands behind his head, "how did we do it? Repel the petrification spell badge? And grind the cockscomb into powder?"
"That's the crux of the matter." Fred read, "It's easy to defend against a spell or two, easy to drive away a basilisk ('Good joke) .', George said) But we can't predict the Death Eater's spell—let alone the Unforgivable one, so how's that thing going?"
"A cloak that blocks most spells, you can really think..." George muttered, looking at the ceiling. He suddenly stood up and slapped his brother on the back, "What is that?"
Fred looked up, and the ceiling was painted with intricate and gorgeous murals, a wizard's adventure around the world. "what are you talking about?"
"See? That thing that looks like a black cloak." George pointed his wand to the northeast corner of the ceiling.
Above their heads depicts a thrilling experience of Aunt Muriel's ancestral wizard, who encounters a formidable enemy in some small country. It looked like a black cloak, sliding against the ground, maybe half an inch thick, but it grew thicker as it killed and digested victim after victim. The brave wizard cast countless spells on it, all held back by its hide, until at the last moment he unleashed the Patronus to banish the monstrous creature.
"My God," Fred clearly understood the mural and the meaning behind it. "Where have I seen it before!"
"I also have the impression..." George raised his head and muttered to himself, "Probably in a book."
"Okay, let's use our smart brains." Fredra passed George, and the two sat face to face on the carpet. "I guess it was an animal..."
"Clearly not an English animal..." George said.
"Wizards wear clothes that look like they're in the tropics..." Fred went on to analyze.
"It has to be a book that both of us have read." George pinched his chin, "Then there are not many options."
"It has something to do with magical creatures." Fred's eyes lit up, "Which book is there in almost every wizarding family in this country?"
"Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!" the two brothers blurted out, high-fiving, and soon found the decades-old, even the textbook they used to, on the newest bookshelf in the study booklet.
"This seems to be the first edition." George pinched the yellowed pages. "What edition is that old Bill and Charlie book from?"
"At least the fifty editions, don't talk nonsense, turn it quickly." Fred urged impatiently.
"Can't you be more patient?" George wrinkled his nose, "Here—the bat! I knew it!"
"Papua New Guinea?" Fred squeezed George away and read Scamander's commentary line by line. "Stunning spells, obstructing spells...Merlin, George, most spells don't work on it."
"Then," George waved his wand, and the other books outside flew back to the bookcase, "Where shall we find Voldemort?"
"I've prepared two options for you." Fred stretched out **** and said with a smirk, "One, let's go to Hagrid."
George shrugged, thinking it was a passable idea.
"Two, let's go to the Hog's Head, because that's where Hagrid got the Norwegian Ridgeback eggs."
George grinned, thinking it was a brilliant idea.
On the fifth day of staying up late at the Hog's Head digging the secret tunnel, Gwen felt that they were getting closer to Hogwarts, but Aberforth said they had only dug a mere five meters. Gwen had grown accustomed to using Muggle tools for manual work, the only thing that made her uncomfortable was dealing with odd clients.
Sometimes she couldn't understand what the British wizards were thinking. The Death Eaters were strutting around the streets, and the Ministry of Magic was still holding on to the origins of the wizards. In such a severe situation, there were still several tables of guests sitting in the bar every day.
How appealing is Fire Whiskey and Redcurrant Rum?
Thinking of this, she couldn't help complaining about the two customers who had just entered the door. They were dressed in black robes and had dirty bandages on their faces, showing only their mouths and white teeth, and one of the guys was whistling at Gwen behind the bar.
"What?" Gwen gruffly threw the wineglass rag in front of them.
"Giggle, pretty girl," said the whistling wizard frivolously.
"No American liquor here." Gwen didn't look back.
"Okay," the wizard froze for a moment, as if not expecting her answer, "then
