I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 541 The Dursleys Leave

Harry carefully searched the box for other fragments.

The scattered shards of glass clung to the bottom of the box like glistening grains of coarse sand. As Harry touched them, he suddenly felt inexplicably irritated. He impatiently turned the entire box around and emptied everything out.

He broke the two-way mirror.

After a phone call with Sirius Black.

His complete ignorance infuriated him.

"Phew—" Harry took a deep breath.

Staring blankly at the empty box and the clutter on the ground for a long time, he collapsed weakly onto the bed.

He lay there lazily for half an hour before finally standing up again.

Then it took another hour to completely empty the box by the bed, throwing away the useless things and dividing the rest into several piles based on whether they would be needed later. The house robes, Quidditch uniforms, crucibles, parchment, quills, and most of the textbooks were piled in a corner and left at home. I don't know what my mom and uncle will do with them; maybe they'll burn them in the middle of the night, as if they were evidence of some heinous crime.

His Muggle clothes, invisibility cloak, potion-making tools, several books, the photo album Hagrid had given him before, a stack of letters, and his wand were all put into an old backpack.

The front pocket of his backpack was stuffed with the Marauder's Map and a bunch of magical items the Twins had given him.

Now, all that's left on the table is the huge pile of newspapers next to Hedwig, the Snow Owl. Like Hermione, Harry is also quite annoyed by the endless drivel in the Daily Prophet.

There wasn't a single important piece of news—well—maybe there was, but he couldn't tell.

As he continued his melancholy reflections, the front door suddenly slammed shut, followed by a loud shout: "Hey! You!"

Harry had been bossed around like this for sixteen years. He knew who his uncle was calling, but he didn't answer immediately. It wasn't until his uncle roared, "Boy!" that Harry slowly stood up, pushed the trunk off the bed, and walked towards the bedroom door.

"What are you dawdling for?" Vernon Dursley roared angrily when he saw Harry appear at the bottom of the stairs. "Come down here, I have something to say!"

Harry walked slowly down the stairs with his hands in his jeans pockets.

He went into the living room and found the Dursleys all there. They were dressed as if they were going on a long trip: Uncle Vernon was wearing a light tan zip-up jacket, Aunt Petunia was wearing a simple light orange top, and Harry's big, blond, muscular cousin Dudley was wearing a leather jacket.

"Is there something you need?" Harry asked casually, as if it were nothing important.

"Sit down! You rude brat," Uncle Vernon said. Harry raised an eyebrow, unmoved. Until Vernon hastily added, as if the word were piercing his throat, "Please!"

Harry sat down. He knew why Vernon had asked him to come.

They've discussed this countless times in three weeks.

"I've changed my mind!" Vernon said.

"Hmm—I'm not surprised at all," Harry said. "So when are you planning to change it back?"

"Don't use that tone..." Aunt Penny shrieked, and Uncle Vernon waved her off.

"You can't fool me." Uncle Vernon stared at Harry with his pig-like eyes. "We're not leaving. And we're not going to the Far East!"

"It's fine. You can stay," Harry said nonchalantly. "Anyway, when the Death Eaters catch you and torture you, I won't come to your rescue."

"How dare you speak like that!" Vernon roared in fury, "You brought all this upon yourselves! You ungrateful wretch! We raised you with such hardship, and this is how you repay us? By bringing those monsters into our home?"

Uncle Vernon's roar echoed in the empty living room, while Aunt Penny remained silent.

Harry calmly retorted, "The Death Eaters have caused so much disaster in London this year; many people have left. In the end, even without me, you would have left anyway. Besides, someone has already arranged everything; you've gotten a safe house for free."

"Kingsley and Sirius have already explained," Harry continued unmoved. "Once I turn seventeen, the protective spell on me will be broken, and you and I will be exposed. You must leave before the end of July."

"Isn't there a Ministry of Magic?" Vernon Dursley suddenly asked.

"Not bad." Harry was surprised.

"Then why can't they protect us? In my opinion, we are innocent victims who, apart from adopting a suspect, have not done anything wrong and should be protected by the government!"

Harry burst out laughing; he couldn't help but laugh.

That's how my uncle is; he always places his hopes on people of higher status or powerful departments, even in a world he dislikes and distrusts. It's as if doing so makes him feel safe.

“You must have heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said,” Harry replied. “There are bad guys in the Ministry of Magic. And associating with high-ranking people won’t make you safe. In fact, the Minister of Magic and the Prime Minister are in much more danger than you. They could be attacked and killed at any moment!”

Uncle Vernon strode to the fireplace and then came back, panting heavily.

His thick, black mustache rippled and undulated, and his large face remained flushed a purplish-red.

Clearly, he was persuaded by Harry.

"Alright, alright!" he said, stopping again in front of Harry. "Let's put it this way, I believe your nonsense, we accept this protection, but I still don't understand why we can't let that big guy Kingsley protect us."

"Kingsley has his own job. Someone else is arranging this for you," Harry said, slightly annoyed.

"Someone else?" Uncle Vernon said. "Another bunch of strangers. Let us at least see their resumes."

Before he could finish speaking, Harry lost his patience and stood up.

"Did you think this was a vacation?" he said in an incredulous tone. He'd never seen anyone so stupid. "Earthquakes, tsunamis, explosions, plane crashes, train derailments, and everything that's happened since we last saw it on the news. People are missing, people are dying, and it's all his doing—Voldemort. I've told you countless times, he takes pleasure in slaughtering Muggles."

Hundreds of thousands of people may have died indirectly at his hands.

Perhaps you should check the news to see what happened in Berlin last year—

"Enough, enough!" Vernon Dursley roared. "Stop talking about those terrible things. You've already made yourself clear."

“I hope so,” Harry said. “Once I turn seventeen, all those guys—Death Eaters, Dementors, werewolves, and maybe even Inferi—those corpses enchanted by dark wizards, and those damned Omen Children, Deadborn, and Imposters—will find you and will definitely come after you. If you remember the last time you fought the wizards, I think you’ll admit you need help.”

"The Order of the Phoenix will be here in a few minutes." Harry had run out of patience and energy to explain to Vernon anymore; he'd already explained far too much over the past few weeks of summer vacation. "Believe it or not, this is your last chance."

None of the Dursleys answered, and he left the living room.

The thought that he would be separated from his aunt, uncle, and cousin forever filled him with joy, but the atmosphere was still somewhat awkward.

After sixteen years of extreme loathing, what can they possibly say to each other?

Back in his bedroom, Harry aimlessly fiddled with his backpack and stuffed a few more owl pellets into Hedwig's cage.

They fell to the bottom of the cage with a thud, but Hedwig ignored them.

"We'll be leaving soon, really soon!" Harry told it, "and then you can fly again."

Doorbell rang.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then left the room and went downstairs.

He didn't know who the wizard who arranged for the Dursleys' departure was, but whoever it was, he had to be there, because Vernon was not someone to be trifled with.

"Harry Potter!" A gentle voice called out as soon as Harry opened the door.

She was a young witch with cascading red hair and eyes that shone like the starry sky, their deep blue reflecting the stars.

He wore oval-shaped glasses and had a straight nose.

At that moment, her gentle gaze fell upon the Harrys through her glasses.

"You are—" Harry realized he recognized the woman. She seemed to be Owen's aunt; they had met in Paris.

"Roy Sylph? How could it be you?"

"That's not surprising at all." Roy smiled, reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair. "The relocation was all arranged by the Saints—or more precisely, by Lady Vynda. Including Hermione's parents."

"As you know, it's an ancient family with businesses all over the world, and they have all sorts of connections."

Of course, there were other reasons as well, but she didn't intend to tell Harry.

"Oh—I see." Harry nodded. "Well—thank you for your help."

"It's nothing," Roy said gently.

She strode into the living room, saying, "You must be Harry's relatives!"

The three people in the room did not reply.

Judging from their blank stares, they were probably daydreaming. Roy wasn't surprised at all; many people would look like that when they saw her.

"Pack your things, and you can leave immediately," Roy said. "We need to leave London first, and then use the Apparition Charm to get to the safe house."

Suddenly, Penny's gaze cleared again. She looked at Roy and unconsciously called out a name: "Lily?"

No—it's not.

Although both have long red hair and very similar body shapes, Roy's red hair is lighter and his face is more defined, unlike Lily's gentle features.

However—in this situation, with magic—and Voldemort—it stirred up a memory from Penny's past.

"Who are you?" Penny looked at her nervously, her voice tinged with urgency.

“Harry already mentioned my name. As for my identity—” she said, glancing suddenly at Harry. “One of Harry’s protectors—well—you can think of it that way.”

"Really?" Penny stared blankly.

Roy didn't explain further. She started focusing her attention on Harry, making small talk with him.

This puzzled Harry. She was deliberately trying to get closer to him—but why?

He had only met the other person a few times and they were not familiar with each other.

Hmm—never mind—I'll ask Irving in a few days.

Vernon began loading his belongings into the car.

Because they couldn't use magic, it took the family of three more than an hour to move all their belongings.

In order not to leave Harry any property, they took all the valuables from the house, even some worthless handicrafts.

"Oh, right." Roy seemed to suddenly remember something and pulled a thick, book-like object out of his pocket.

"Your birthday is in a few days," she said with a smile. "This is a birthday present Sirius Black prepared for you. It was originally supposed to be in a beautiful box, but since I happened to run into you this time, I'm giving it to you early."

"What is this?" Harry asked, puzzled. He took the thick "book" and opened it, only to find that it was actually a photo album.

Hmm—I don't know if it's a photo album.

It also contained many letters.

Harry randomly opened one of the letters and found it was a letter his mother had written to Sirius.

—Dear Bigfoot:

—Thank you, thank you for the birthday present for Harry! It's his favorite toy. He's only one year old and he can already fly around on his toy broom. He looks so happy.

—I've attached a photo for you to see. (In the photo, one-year-old Harry is "lying" on a short broom, his chubby hands gripping the front tightly, a smile of excitement on his face, while James beckons Harry to fly towards him from the end of the corridor.)

—You know the little broom can only go two feet off the ground, but Harry almost killed a kitten and broke an ugly vase that Penny gave me for Christmas (not complaining).

—Of course, James thought it was hilarious and said the kid would be the next Quidditch star, but we had to put all the decorations away and keep an eye on him as he flew.

—We had a very quiet birthday tea party, with only old Bathilda there. She's always been very kind to us and especially dotes on Harry.

—The Invisibility Cloak is still with Dumbledore, so James hasn't had a chance to go out. He would be so happy if you could come.

Xiao Chong came by last weekend. I sensed he was down, but maybe it was because of the news about the McKinnons. I cried all night after hearing it.

Bathilda comes over often; she's a fascinating old lady who tells many stories about Dumbledore—it's unbelievable! I wonder if he himself would be pleased to hear them!

—Honestly, I don't know how much to believe, and it's hard to believe that Dumbledore would be friends with Gellert Grindelwald. Personally, I think she's a bit out of her mind!

Boundless love

Lily

(End of this chapter)