A certain Hogwarts professor of runes.

"Krook Hill?" he exclaimed incredulously, rushing to the window and flinging it open. A ginger cat leaped from the windowsill into the room, meowing at him.

“Crooked Hill, what brings you here? Hermione asked you to deliver a message? But this is so far…” Harry said, somewhat bewildered.

Crookshan licked his paws and pointed outside.

Harry mechanically turned his head to look out the window, then suddenly his eyes widened.

Hermione was standing prettily next to the flowerbed at 4 Privet Drive, carrying a suitcase in one hand and waving frantically at him with the other.

Harry rushed downstairs, Crookshanks following behind, ignoring the calls of his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. He dashed out the door and ran to Hermione.

"You... how...did you get here?" Harry asked breathlessly.

“I wrote to the professor, asking where I could cast spells without any worries—” Hermione said happily, smoothing her hair.

“But I can’t—can’t—cast spells—at will here—” Harry said breathlessly, swallowing hard. “Sirius isn’t home during the day.”

“I know, the place the professor was talking about isn’t here,” Hermione said.

"So, uh, you've come to say goodbye?" Harry said, somewhat disappointed. He had thought he'd have some company.

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Hermione asked him in surprise, "We're going to set off together."

Chapter 495 Clarification

Harry still had a lot of questions. But two weeks of boredom made him eager to return to the wizarding world, especially since Hermione had given him a very tempting reason—to cast spells without restraint—he couldn't ask for more.

"I'll pack my bags right away!" Harry said hastily.

The Dursleys were peering out the window, looking cautious and sensitive, their eyes filled with the same suspicion.

"Who is she?" Uncle Vernon asked first as Harry entered the foyer. He looked cautiously at Hermione, who stood alone near the flowerbed, but even with his discerning eye, he couldn't find a clue. "She's also—she's also someone who goes to school with you?"

“Yes, that’s right.” Harry walked right past them and turned to go upstairs.

"Explain yourself! What is she doing here—you gave our address to someone else?" Uncle Vernon chased after Harry aggressively, finally blocking the stairs in front of him, pointing at Harry's chest, spittle flying everywhere: "I don't know if we're giving you the wrong impression, but—this house—I will never allow—to become—a concentration camp for freaks!"

“She has a name!” Harry said irritably. “Hermione’s name is Hermione, and she’s not here to stay.”

He ducked and squeezed through the huge gap under Uncle Vernon's arm. "She's here to tell me to leave. I'm leaving soon," Harle said, unable to contain his joy.

"Kid, don't talk to me like that—we adopted you! You need to learn to be grateful—"

The bedroom door shut out Uncle Vernon's gruff voice. Harry paid no attention; he was about to go somewhere else, and a voice inside him hummed with glee.

He looked around and suddenly realized his room was a mess—several sheets of parchment, an ink bottle, and a few quill pens lay on the floor, his unfinished astronomy homework; a small pile of candy sat on the rickety bedside table, the snack wrappers he'd brought back from the train torn in half, and half of a chocolate frog's head bitten off; there were also his books, which he'd left lying around for the past two weeks, and Hedwig's owl cage…

Thankfully, Hermione didn't come in. Harry couldn't help but think.

He plopped down on the bed, bent down, and pulled the trunk out from under the bed. Several Muggle clothes and wizard robes were piled haphazardly inside, and the socks Dobby had given him were conspicuously up on top. For the next few minutes, Harry rummaged through the room, stuffing books one by one into the trunk. He happily contemplated where he was going next, while also remembering where he had put his things.

The cabinet contained locked snacks, comic books, and unused textbooks. The former was the complete set of "The Adventures of Mick the Wizard of Oz," and the latter was a series of books by Gilderoy Lockhart—which Harry had been trying to get rid of. Lockhart was actually a fraud who gained fame by attributing other people's stories to himself. He even served as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor when Harry was in his second year. However, halfway through the school year, Lockhart's misdeeds were discovered, and he was imprisoned in Azkaban by the Ministry of Magic.

Harry grinned; he, Ron, and Hermione had also contributed.

He opened the closet, rolled up his dirty clothes, and stuffed them into the gaps in the trunk. Then, he casually picked up the small purple booklet from beside his pillow and placed it on top of the clothes. For a moment, Harry stared at the booklet, mesmerized, gazing at the words on the cover—

"Wartime Survival Handbook - Authorized by the Ministry of Magic: Protect your home and family from the Dark Magic".

Harry held his breath and carefully turned to the first page, repeatedly reading the fourth point—to agree on a safe code with friends and family to detect Death Eaters using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate others (see page 2).

His breathing suddenly became rapid, and his mouth became dry.

Harry slowed his pace, tiptoed to the window, and glanced quickly outside as if he were up to no good—Hermione was gone.

Harry's mind went blank.

What's going on? Is Hermione a fake? He swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down.

Hermione suddenly showed up at his door, wanting to take him somewhere. That wasn't a big deal, since he'd already given her the address... but someone should have notified him. Had Sirius been so busy that he forgot about it? But Professor Hyp shouldn't have forgotten.

Harry thought he was overthinking it. If Hermione was a Death Eater in disguise, she should have cursed him the moment she saw him, instead of letting him go upstairs to pack his luggage... But he couldn't help but wonder, what if the Death Eater wanted him to leave willingly?

By staging it as an accident, the investigation will be made more difficult, and suspicion will only fall on the real Hermione.

He agreed on a safety code with family and friends... He didn't even ask Hermione where she was going; he was overwhelmed by the sudden joy...

He had seen compound decoctions before, but how could he identify them? He had no recollection of them at all.

Harry glanced out the window again. Hermione was back, and—she clearly spotted Harry on the second floor and smiled at him.

Where did she just go? Who did she talk to?

Harry's heart was pounding.

Crookshanks, that's strong evidence... Death Eaters can't give Polyjuice Potion to animals, Hermione learned that lesson before, but Harry wasn't sure if it was Transfiguration, he hadn't noticed before.

Harry frantically carried the box and cage downstairs, the cage repeatedly bumping against the stair railing. Hedwig grumbled in dissatisfaction. "Yeah..." Harry suddenly realized as he stood downstairs, "I could ask someone if this is true."

But it seemed too late. If Hermione was indeed a Death Eater in disguise, she wouldn't give him much time; even the slightest delay could send the Death Eater and her companions bursting in.

Harry stood there, stunned, his mind a jumble of thoughts.

"Kid, what are you waiting for! Nobody wants to keep you!" Uncle Vernon roared in the living room, his voice drowning out the television program—"Goal! 1-0 lead."

Harry turned his head stiffly to look at Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, each going about their own business as usual. A strange unease stirred within Harry. He could Apparate in advance if danger arose, but this meant the Dursleys would face unknown risks.

For example, enduring the wrath of Death Eaters who fail to capture them.

But what can you do when they treat you badly, Harry thought, his gaze slowly sweeping over the people in the living room, as if re-examining them, judging them from another perspective...

"There's no more ice cream." Dali slammed his fat arm on the table.

“There’s plenty in the fridge, honey,” Aunt Penny said, stacking the plates in a pile.

"I want chocolate! Chocolate!" Dali shouted.

“Okay, Dada,” Aunt Penny said affectionately, putting down the table she was halfway clearing and wiping her hands. “Mom will buy it for you right away. Hurry back, and you can have another piece of fried meat in the meantime—” She walked toward the door.

Harry stared at her; her hand was on the doorknob, and his heart leaped.

"Don't go out," he said in a hoarse voice.

Aunt Penny turned around in surprise, her eyebrows twisting strangely, her thin lips pressed into a line, and the doting look in her eyes quickly turned cold.

“You haven’t left yet?” she said, turning back and placing one hand on the doorknob, then turning it hard.

"Don't go out!" Harry said, seemingly regaining his mobility, and stepped forward to pull Aunt Petunia away from the door before drawing his wand.

The Dursleys screamed and jumped up. “Put—that thing—away!” Aunt Petunia shouted.

"How dare you!" This was Uncle Fernon.

Harry ignored them, carefully concealing his wand in his sleeve and peering out the window. The Dursleys, startled by his attitude, froze in place. Harry pushed open the door, and the noise from inside clearly carried outside, as Hermione was peeking into the yard.

Harry slowly walked out.

"What's wrong? Aren't you done cleaning up yet?" Hermione asked.

“I, uh…” Harry racked his brains and said, “I suddenly realized something, where are we going? Are we coming back?” He shrugged casually, “You know, I have too much stuff, it’s slow to pack.”

“Oh,” Hermione said without suspicion, “I don’t know either. The professor told me to come at seven o’clock. He said if I came early, we could go to Sirius’s house and wait together.”

Harry breathed a slight sigh of relief; at least she knew Sirius had a rental house nearby.

He couldn't help but complain, "It's only a little past five in the afternoon, you've come too early."

Hermione snorted. "I need to give you time to pack, and besides, I've never been here before, so Mom and Dad were worried I wouldn't be able to find my way. It turned out pretty smoothly—"

"Mom and Dad?" Harry called out.

“Yes.” Hermione looked toward the street corner, and Harry followed her gaze to a car parked on the road. He recognized two familiar figures; if his memory served him right, they should be Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

“You told me how unfriendly the Dursleys are,” Hermione said, pursing her lips. “I think—if too many people are blocking the door, it might cause you trouble.”

“Very comprehensive,” Harry stammered, all his doubts now cleared up. But he didn’t know how to go back and explain to the Dursleys. He turned around suddenly, almost nervously, and through the large living room window, he could vaguely see two round creatures huddled together, making Aunt Petunia, who was also leaning against him, look small and pitiful, like Dudley wearing a coat.

Harry paused for a moment, then closed his mouth, waved his hand, and looked dejected.

"I'll go get my luggage," he said dejectedly.

Harry returned to the living room, where the trunk and birdcage lay untouched on the floor. The Dursleys were huddled in a corner, just as he had seen from the outside. Harry silently picked up the cage, gripped the trunk handle with his other hand, and silently prayed… pretending nothing had happened.

“Boy! Explain yourself! What are you up to!” Uncle Vernon roared, trying to shield Aunt Petunia and Dudley from behind while glaring at Harry. But his plan clearly failed; anyone could see past him and spot Dudley, who looked like a baby whale.

Aunt Penny, on the other hand, was blushing and seemed to be struggling to breathe from being squeezed.

“I…I misunderstood,” Harry said dryly. “The wizarding world has been in turmoil lately, 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 him go…don't ask so many questions…you don't know anyway…

"V-what?" Uncle Finon shook his head, trying to put on a thoughtful expression.

"He's back?" Aunt Penny asked softly from behind. "That...murderer...he's back?"

Uncle Vernon glanced at his wife, then at Harry, a look of realization dawning on his face. "I've heard that name before. He's the one—"

The person who killed Harry's parents.

But no one answered him.

Harry stared at Aunt Petunia. At first, he only felt strange and had a slightly absurd feeling—Voldemort, who held sway in the wizarding world and frightened wizards into not daring to call him by his name, was simply called a murderer by the Muggle he looked down on the most, especially a housewife. But from Aunt Petunia's light-colored eyes, which were wide open with fear, Harry vaguely realized that he was not the only one in the room who knew what Voldemort's return meant.

Aunt Petunia looked at him with a strange look, one she had never given him before. This made Harry very uncomfortable; the air in the room seemed to suffocate him. He picked up the cage and suitcase containing Hedwig and hurried out of Number 4 Privet Drive.

“Let’s go,” Harry said breathlessly to Hermione.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, taking Harry's cage. Hedwig, who had just been treated roughly, was disoriented in the cage, her once bright and majestic amber eyes now dull. She barked angrily.

“It’s nothing,” Harry said.

"You look like you just got into a fight."

“I’ll talk about it on the way,” Harry said.

Mr. Granger got out of the car and helped Harry put his luggage in the trunk. "Thank you—I can carry the cage," Harry said hurriedly, sitting in the back seat with Hermione. They nearly ran over Crookshank, who jumped onto Hermione's lap and whimpered at him.

Harry didn't notice that the Grangers were also silent, preoccupied with their own thoughts, just like him.

“Where to go next?” Mr. Granger asked in a hoarse voice.

“Just turn the corner and walk a little further, it’s very close,” Harry said, and then he heard a soft sob.

Harry looked up and saw Mrs. Granger wiping her eyes in the rearview mirror. The atmosphere in the car seemed even more oppressive than at No. 4 Privet Drive. He couldn't figure out what was going on, so he looked at Hermione. Hermione shook her head slightly, and her eyes were also red.