HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Chapter 270 Summer Vacation Arrives

The Hogwarts Express, puffing out steam like a giant red steel serpent, lay lazily at Hogsmeade Station, about to carry students into the long summer vacation.

The platform was bustling with people.

The wheels of suitcases rumbled on the rough ground, owls hooted impatiently in their cages, and students chatted loudly in small groups about their summer plans, exchanged home addresses, or hugged goodbye for the upcoming short separation.

Exam results have long been forgotten by the students, and a long-lost sense of freedom permeates the air.

"Your dad can definitely get tickets, right, Ron?"

"Probably... He said this is unprecedented in scale!"

"Fantastic! Ireland vs. Bulgaria! Krum will be playing too!"

Although Hermione wasn't as enthusiastic about Quidditch as they were, she smiled and said, "It's truly a grand event. The Department of Magical Sports reports that this is the largest attendance in history."

Fred and George Weasley stood arm in arm, their faces beaming with undisguised smugness, despite the fact that their OWLs exam results might be appalling, they had successfully passed the minimum required subjects.

This was enough for them to declare it a "huge success" and begin planning their joke shop's future with even greater audacity.

“It only takes a little bit of ‘creativity’,” Fred winked at the curious Lee Jordan. “The examiners clearly appreciate our practical spirit.”

“Especially our portable Swamp Curse,” George added, “although they asked us to clean it up on the spot.”

In stark contrast to them was their brother, Percy.

He stood ramrod straight, his face radiating an undeniable pride and seriousness.

He successfully passed all the NEWTs exams and achieved remarkable results.

Of course, this was within his expectations, but it was still worth publicizing.

“I have received a formal offer of employment from the Ministry of Magic,” he announced to anyone who would or would not listen, “to the Office of Mr. Barty Crouch, Department of International Magical Cooperation. A very promising position, and I am confident that I can make the right contribution to the Ministry of Magic.”

“Yes, Mr. Crouch personally wrote to affirm my NEWTs report card, saying that the International Department of Magical Cooperation needs fresh blood with a rigorous academic background. I believe this is an excellent starting point…”

Not far away, Fred and George had already begun to exaggeratedly imitate Percy's upright walking posture and affected manner of speaking.

“I believe, and I solemnly declare,” Fred said in a high-pitched voice, pretending to sort through an invisible badge, “that I will write a detailed report for the Ministry of Magic on how to better clean badges!”

George immediately chimed in, equally serious: "It is my duty, my dear brother, to make sure the parchment used for the report is thick enough to match the unparalleled weight of its contents!"

The surrounding Gryffindor students immediately burst into laughter.

Ron's face turned slightly red, partly from finding it funny, and partly from feeling embarrassed for his older brother.

Ginny, however, didn't hold back at all, clutching her stomach and giggling.

In the end, it was Professor McGonagall who stopped the farce.

She wore her usual emerald green robe, her hair perfectly styled. Her sharp gaze swept across the crowd, occasionally nodding to a student or offering a brief word of advice.

"Potter, I hope you'll at least look through your Transfiguration notes during your vacation..."

"Mr. Weasley, I hope your holiday experiments don't spread to the entire village of Autry-St. Catchbolt..."

"Don't forget to practice your spells! Oh, and take good care of your wand!"

The most eye-catching one is Hagrid.

He practically blocked half the platform entrance with his body, shouting in a booming voice, "Goodbye Harry! Goodbye Ron! Hermione! Remember to write to me!"

He was a little sentimental, and couldn't help but blow his nose hard with the handkerchief the size of a tablecloth, his voice choked with emotion, "Another year has passed... You've all grown up..."

When he saw Percy, he congratulated him loudly, "Congratulations, Percy! That's great! Your mom will be so proud of you!"

Percy accepted Hagrid's congratulations somewhat stiffly, seemingly finding Hagrid's loud voice inappropriate, though his own voice wasn't exactly quiet either.

With a long whistle, the train slowly started moving, and the outline of Hogwarts Castle gradually blurred, eventually disappearing behind the mountains.

The school year has officially ended.

……

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Black's Old House.

This old mansion seems to be forever shrouded in a gloomy twilight, with a lingering musty smell perpetually emanating from the house.

Dust floated slowly in the dim light filtering through the gaps in the heavy curtains; everywhere except Harry's room was always filled with dust.

Harry and Sirius did indeed find a peculiar kind of "happiness" here, a long-lost sense of kinship stemming from freedom and companionship.

Apart from……

"You spendthrift! Bringing that brat to defile the noble Black family mansion!"

Kreacher's malicious curses often echoed from the corner, and whenever he saw Harry and Sirius, his bulbous eyes would fill with hatred.

"Shut up, Kreacher!"

Sirius roared rudely, but the house-elf only returned the glare with an even more venomous look before slamming the door shut and disappearing.

Kreacher didn't confront Sirius directly, but his large, resentful eyes always followed them, and he kept muttering the most offensive words under his breath.

Lunchtime is often the start of a mini-competition.

"Kreacher!"

Sirius would impatiently shout down the empty corridor, "Get me something to eat! No spitting! No half-cooked food! No deliberately making it taste bad! And not that stew that's as tough as dragon skin again!"

A moment later, with a soft "snap," Kreacher appeared, carrying a silver platter with a few unevenly sliced ​​slices of cold meat and some dry bread—it looked utterly unappetizing.

He would slam the plate down on the table, sending dust flying.

“This is what that spendthrift son and his brat deserve,” Kreacher muttered to the wall. “The reserves of the noble Black family are not for feeding…”

"Shut up! Either cook properly, or I'll seal you and that crazy woman's portrait in the basement!"

Sirius threatened, waving his wand to soften the bread a little and heat up the cold meat.

Harry tried saying "thank you," but Kreacher would just glare at him with even more disgust, then disappear with a bang, usually leaving behind the words: "Hypocritical little brat, trying to fool the noble Kreacher with false politeness..."

“Ignore him, Harry,” Sirius said, pushing the plate towards him with some disgust. “That’s just how he is. My mother turned him into this. Eat up, I’ll teach you the spell that makes the Flobber Caterpillar explode this afternoon, it’ll be much more interesting than this.”

Cleaning is an even bigger disaster.

Sirius is fairly good at cleansing spells, but he has an extreme lack of patience.

Often, a single incantation, intended to clean a rug, ends up covering half the living room furniture with a strange pink fuzz.

"Damn it!"

Sirius Black cursed and tried to undo the spell.

Then, Kreacher would suddenly appear, frantically wiping the nearest piece of silverware with a filthy rag, while weeping and wailing, "Oh, my poor mistress, look at the state your home has become! This spendthrift is defiling Black's honor with his filthy hands and inferior magic!"

"I'm trying to clean it up, you idiot!"

"Kreacher doesn't need cleaning! Kreacher needs to protect! Protect the mistress's house from being ruined!"

The little elf shrieked and scrubbed the silverware even harder, almost bending it.

Harry, caught in the middle, often felt superfluous.

He tried to help, for example, by using "Whirlwind Sweep" to clean the cobwebs on the mantel, but instead, half a century's worth of dust hit him and Sirius, making them cough repeatedly.

At this point, Kreacher would let out a gloating laugh, like someone had their throat choked.

Nevertheless, Harry felt an unprecedented sense of satisfaction.

He could use his wand freely and practice various spells under Sirius's guidance without worrying about the Dursleys' screams or Dudley's mockery.

A magical light often flashed in the living room.

Harry was particularly focused on the Patronus Charm, a powerful spell that Professor Lupin taught him to ward off Dementors.

"Take the God's Protection!"

Harry focused all his thoughts on the feeling of flying on a broomstick for the first time, on the moment he won the Quidditch Cup, and on the support his friends had given him.

A bright, silvery mist billowed from the tip of his wand, like a warm lamp, dispelling the darkness of the room and bringing a strong sense of security.

However, it has never been able to coalesce into a clear form.

“That’s already very good, Harry,” Sirius leaned against the doorframe, a proud yet slightly melancholic smile on his face. “Much better than I was back then. Wait a minute…”

That afternoon, Sirius brought out an old box filled with photos and odds and ends from his student days.

Most of the photos are dynamic, featuring four spirited teenagers—James, Sirius, Lupin, and the traitor Peter Pettigrew.

The four men put their arms around each other's shoulders and kept making faces at the camera, with James showing off his new broom.

Harry's fingers traced the image of his father's youthful, vibrant face in the photograph, a complex mix of emotions welling up within him—longing, pride, and deep regret.

He even saw a corner of a photograph where a burgundy-haired girl was throwing a book at James with a stern face.

"If your dad saw you like this, he would be incredibly proud of himself."

Sirius's voice was a little hoarse. He picked up a group photo of the four of them and stared at it for a long time.

That night, Harry lay in bed, the laughter of his father and godfather in the photograph echoing in his mind, thinking about Sirius finally being free, thinking about how he finally had a place he could truly call "home," even though it had a wicked house-elf.

A solid and warm joy gathered in his heart, different from the ecstasy of winning the game; it was a deep and lasting warmth.

He almost instinctively reached for his wand.

"Take the God's Protection!"

He didn't shout, but simply uttered the incantation softly.

But this time it was no longer a silvery mist.

The light surged forth, dazzling and brilliant, rapidly coalescing and stretching before his eyes, finally taking shape—a lithe and majestic silver stag.

It exuded a pure and powerful energy, gracefully traversing the room, its silver light illuminating every corner. Even the gloomy faces in the portraits of the Black family ancestors in the living room seemed to be stunned by this light, temporarily silencing their complaints.

The stag lowered its head, as if protecting Harry with its invisible antlers, then turned into specks of silver light and slowly dissipated.

Harry, panting, stared incredulously at the tip of his wand, his heart brimming with immense accomplishment and an indescribable, wondrous feeling.