The Return to Hogwarts

"Whoever teaches this course, I just hope he's not one of Voldemort's henchmen—"

Harry said with concern.

How could you have such an idea, Harry?

Born into a magical family and raised in the wizarding world, Ron still reacts strongly to the word 'Voldemort' even today. Every time he hears it, he gasps and shivers as if someone has doused his neck with ice water in the dead of winter. Hermione, who also grew up in the Muggle world, is much better off, but even so, upon hearing Harry's words, she still straightened up in surprise, her mouth agape.

"Sirius and Remus came to me before and told me that I'm not allowed to sneak into the Forbidden Forest this semester, and I'm not allowed to sneak into it through the secret passages when Hogsmeade is closed--"

Harry said sullenly,

"My dream must have made them think that Voldemort was plotting something, and that this plot was most likely related to me."

“But you have to admit, it’s a possibility, isn’t it, Harry? I think Sirius and Remus are right, we have to be careful. And you also have to start training for Professor Blaine’s PE classes again, at least that will increase your chances of survival if anything goes wrong!”

Hermione said seriously.

"Oh, you're just worrying unnecessarily, Hermione."

Ron turned away from the window and said dismissively.

“Even if the mysterious man is really plotting something against you, Harry, he can’t possibly break into Hogwarts, right? I’d like to see how he plans to kidnap you right under the noses of Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Blaine.”

"The mysterious man's power isn't just limited to magic, Ron,"

Hermione glared at her, clearly displeased.

"He is also a master of intrigue and scheming. The book 'Major Magical Events of the Twentieth Century' tells many cases. The Mysterious Man easily brought the Ministry of Magic to the brink of collapse and made the entire wizarding world panic. Of course, I don't want Harry to live in fear, but at least you should take Sirius and Remus's advice seriously, Harry."

"Alright, tomorrow is the World Cup, let's not make everyone nervous with this kind of thing."

Ron glanced at Hermione, then his gaze, as if burned, left her upper body, which was clad only in a thin nightgown.

"Oh, it's so hot in the room, Harry!"

Ron, panting, stumbled toward the door.

"I need to take a shower. Mom said we have to get up at five o'clock tomorrow morning to travel, so we'd better go to bed early."

With that, he left the room as if fleeing a disaster.

"Is it hot?"

Harry pulled his thoughts away from the dream, glanced at the window that was letting in gusts of cool air, and looked with a slightly bewildered gaze at Hermione, whose face was indeed a little red and not quite normal.

"Oh--"

Hermione shrank back a little guiltily.

"Hmm, maybe. Well then..."

Hermione brushed her dried hair aside and hurried toward the door.

"Get some rest, Harry, goodnight--"

Chapter 459 Arrival at the Site

2023-09-04

Harry didn't sleep well that night, partly because he couldn't shake the topic they had discussed the night before. Although he knew he couldn't guess what Voldemort was up to, he just couldn't stop his mind from wandering. The other part was because of Ron, who didn't seem to be sleeping well either.

Perhaps because he was looking forward to the World Cup, he kept tossing and turning in bed, making his metal-framed bed creak and keeping Harry awake.

The commotion subsided a bit late into the night, but Harry started dreaming again. This time, the dream was nothing out of the ordinary; it had nothing to do with Voldemort, but was just a jumble of random things.

He first dreamt that he had returned to Hogwarts, where Professor McGonagall was very dissatisfied with the quality of his summer homework and threatened to make him clean the washrooms for a whole year unless Harry could make Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup for the next few years.

Harry was arguing with Professor McGonagall when suddenly the scene shifted, and he was back on a huge Quidditch pitch, dressed in an England jersey, riding a Firebolt, ready to enter the game. He was surrounded by cheering British wizarding crowds and Hogwarts classmates, and Cho Chang's gentle voice stood out clearly amidst the noise.

“If you win the game, I’ll go on a date with you, Harry. Otherwise, I’ll go find Cedric!”

"This is not fair!"

Harry shouted angrily, ready to protest to Cho Chang because Cedric had easily gotten the chance to date Cho Chang, but he had to win the game.

boom!

Harry, who jumped off the firebolt, didn't land on the grass, but instead crashed onto the floor of Ron's cramped room.

It was pitch black outside the window. Harry could only make out the light filtering through the crack in the open door. It was Mrs. Weasley speaking. She had just woken Ron and was about to walk around his bedside to wake him up, but he seemed a little flustered by the noise he was making.

"Had a nightmare, darling?" Mrs. Weasley whispered.

"What's unfair?"

Ron mumbled sleepily as he yawned in bed, completely unaware that the noise he had made in the first half of the night had kept Harry awake.

"Oh, I dreamt I was in Potions class—" Harry was incredibly relieved that the room was dark and Mrs. Weasley and Ron couldn't see his burning face. He didn't know why he would have such a ridiculous dream, but he instinctively tried to hide it.

“Snape wants me to clean the classroom by myself,” Harry muttered.

"Oh, then you should punch him in the nose, don't hold back, Harry, smash him like Dumbledore—"

“Don’t say that about Dumbledore,” Mrs. Weasley said unhappily. “Hurry up, Ron, your father is already waiting for you down there!”

Mrs. Weasley personally went to each room to call people and kept urging them to get ready, but it was half an hour later before everyone had dressed, washed up, and arrived in the living room.

"There's no time for breakfast, Arthur."

Mrs. Weasley tossed a canvas bag to Mr. Weasley and, with a hasty kiss on his cheek, said, “When you get there, remember to get the children something to eat.”

The air was cold, and the moon was still high in the sky. Only a faint grayish-green tinge appeared on the horizon to their right, indicating that dawn was slowly approaching. The little ones were all too sleepy to talk, except for Mr. Weasley and Sirius, who led the conversation.

"--Ludo got my ticket for me. He's probably been too tired from preparing for the World Cup, and he hasn't been in a good mood for the past two months. He only seems to be back to normal these past few days. To be honest, I think he should take a few days off. Of course, as long as he doesn't get lost."

"Who's lost?" Sirius, who wasn't too familiar with the department's situation, asked back, "Has anyone gone missing from the department?"

“She’s from the Ludo department. Judging by her age, you should know her. Sirius Black, it’s Bertha Jorkins. She asked for leave from the department saying she was going on vacation to Albania, and then there was no news for over a month.”

Mr. Weasley jumped onto a rock, panted for a few moments, and then said.

"I do know him—"

Sirius Black retrieved Bertha Jorkins from his distant memories, frowning as he said, "

Yes, she is indeed a bit confused, but her memory for gossip is unparalleled, and she herself enjoys prying into other people's private affairs and spreading them around. I guess you don't really like her, but hasn't the department sent someone to look for her? Albania isn't exactly a peaceful place.”

“I think I’ve heard this name before—” Harry said suddenly, frowning, “but I can’t remember where.”

“Percy might have mentioned it to you when he talked to you about old Barty,” Mr. Weasley said casually. “Bertha used to work for Barty, but it’s not surprising that she was later transferred to Ludo’s department. She’s changed departments quite a few times over the years; she never stays in one place for long.”

Sirius and Remus quickly moved on to other things, while Harry remained frowning, thinking about Bertha Jorkins. He was pretty sure he hadn't heard of Bertha Jorkins from Percy, but he couldn't quite place her, yet his intuition kept compelling him to ponder the question.

Hiking at night is not a pleasant activity. They often trip over hidden rabbit holes or slip on the dark, sticky grass. Soon, Mr. Weasley and Sirius were too tired to talk, so they stopped talking and focused on the path.

On the contrary, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins maintained a steady pace, which unconsciously put them ahead of the others. By the time Harry stood on the mountaintop gazing at the sunrise, Mr. Weasley and the others were still several hundred feet away.

"Oh, children, you really surprise me."

Finally reaching the summit, Mr. Weasley, his head spinning, wiped his fogged-up glasses and panted as he spoke.

"Could it be that you've had professional mountain climbing training?"

“It’s Amosta’s PE class—” Sirius said with a smile, wiping his sweat. “These little guys have been receiving physical training from Amosta.”

"Oh, really!"

Mr. Weasley said, clearly a little surprised, but then he noticed that his youngest son, Ron, seemed just as exhausted and out of breath.

"What's wrong with you, Ron? You don't usually skip this class, do you?"

"No, Dad." Ron lowered his head guiltily.

“I doubt you’d dare skip Amosta’s class,” Mr. Weasley chuckled. “Then you should really work on your training.”

Everyone except Mr. Weasley knew that Ron had dropped the course long ago, but no one would tell Mr. Weasley the truth, because they didn't want to embarrass Ron.

Harry anticipated running into his Hogwarts classmate at the World Cup, but he didn't expect to meet him before even setting off, and to make matters worse, he wasn't too happy to see this person.

It was Cedric and his father.

Harry was initially somewhat curious about Cedric's father, as his name was very similar to Professor Blaine's, differing by only one syllable. However, when this Weasley's colleague, a red-faced wizard with a short brown beard, began to speak with him, Harry became less pleased.

Because Mr. Diggory was particularly keen to boast about Cedric's excellence, he even brought up the match Harry lost last semester because of the Dementors and Cedric's outstanding performance in Professor Blaine's PE class. But everyone knew the truth: if the Dementors hadn't interfered, the outcome of that match would have been uncertain. And while Cedric did have excellent training results in Professor Blaine's PE class, he was simply the oldest student, which gave him an advantage in size.

They left Weasel Mountain using the Portkey and instantly arrived at the location where the Quidditch final would be held.

This was Harry's first time using a Portkey. Before that, he had used Apparition with Professor Blaine, Floo Powder at Mr. Weasley's house, and the Knight Bus twice. It's hard to say which of these wizarding modes of transportation was the worst.

Harry's spirits only lifted after parting ways with the Cedric family and entering the misty swamp.

As they emerged from the fog and entered the area where the spectators were being housed, everyone held their breath. Mr. Weasley, seemingly having anticipated the children's reaction, opened his arms wide, a smug glint in his eyes.

"Well, kids, this is the result of the Ministry of Magic's work over the past six months!"

Chapter 460 Magical World

2023-09-05

Harry had no time to pay attention to Mr. Weasley's boasting; he stared at the wide lawn in front of him, his eyes bulging out of their sockets in astonishment!

There were probably several thousand tents neatly arranged on the lawn in front of us, lined up in dozens of rows, stretching all the way to the edge of the jungle in the distance. Most of the tents were nothing special; clearly, their owners had gone to great lengths to make them look like Muggle tents in order to avoid attracting attention.

However, some tents have gone too far, adding unnecessary features like chimneys, bell ropes, or wind vanes, making them look out of place. But the tents closer to the jungle edge are often the most unique, many displaying a strong regional character or a magical style at first glance.