HP Magic Biography

Harry froze, his feet on the stairs, his face tensed.

Boy! Come here! With a mixture of fear and anger, Harry slowly moved his foot off the stairs and turned to follow the Dursleys. After the darkness outside, the carefully cleaned kitchen had an odd, unreal gleam.

Aunt Petunia settled Dudley in a chair, and Dudley was still blue and looking wet and cold.

Uncle Vernon stood in front of the drain cover and stared at Harry through his small, slit eyes.

What did you do to my son? he growled in a menacing tone.

Nothing, replied Harry, knowing full well that Uncle Vernon would not believe him.

What did he do to you, Dudley? asked Aunt Petunia, in a trembling voice, as she sponged the vomit off the front of Dudley's leather jacket. Is—isn't—you know what I mean, dear? Did he—did he use that thing?

Dudley nodded slowly, tremblingly. I didn't! cried Harry when Aunt Petunia wailed and Uncle Vernon raised his fist. I didn't do anything to him! That wasn't me! It was—

But just then, a long-eared owl swoops in through the kitchen window. Nearly hitting the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it glided through the kitchen, dropped the large parchment letter it was holding in its mouth at Harry's feet, and turned gracefully, the end of its wing over the refrigerator. the top of the tree, then flew out again and soared up, disappearing through the garden.

Owl! Uncle Vernon yelled angrily, with burst veins throbbing in his face angrily, and he slammed the kitchen window shut with a loud bang. Another owl! I will never let another owl into my house!

But Harry had torn open the envelope and pulled out the letter, and somewhere in his heart had been thumped.

Dear Mr. Porter:

We have received information that at 9:23 tonight in the Muggle quarters you cast the Patronus spell, and in the presence of a Muggle. This behavior has violated Article 70 of the Regulations Restricting the Use of Witchcraft by Minors, which will result in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Representatives from the Ministry of Magic will arrive at your residence shortly and destroy your wand. Since you violated Article 3 of the International Union of Magicians Concerning Confidentiality last time, you have already received a formal warning. We regret to inform you that you must attend the Ministry of Magic at 9:00 am on August 2nd. A disciplinary hearing.

I hope you are well,

Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkeke, The Ministry of Magic is inappropriately using the Office of Magic.

Harry read the letter twice. He was only vaguely aware of the conversation between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Everything was cold and numb in his head. The fact pierced his consciousness like a paralyzing dart.

He was expelled from Hogwarts.

It's all over. He will never go back.

He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple in the face and growling loudly, his fists still raised.

Aunt Petunia put her arm around Dudley, who threw up again. Harry's briefly numb mind seemed to regain consciousness.

Representatives from the Ministry of Magic will arrive at your residence shortly and destroy your wand. This can only mean one thing. That is he must run right now.

Where he was going Harry didn't know, but he was sure of one thing, whether at Hogwarts or outside he would need his wand.

In a dreamlike state, he drew his wand and turned away from the kitchen.

Where do you think you're going? cried Uncle Vernon. When Harry refused to answer, he walked through the kitchen and slammed the door to the living room behind him.

We're not done, boy!

Get out of the way, Harry said quietly.

You're going to stay here and explain what's wrong with my son.

I'll curse you if you don't get out of the way, said Harry, raising his wand at the same time.

You can't pull that thing out in front of me! Uncle Vernon yelled. I know you're not allowed to use magic outside that crazy building you call your school!

I've been fired from this crazy building, said Harry. So I can do whatever I like. You have three seconds left. One...two...

A loud sound of shattering glass filled the bedroom. Aunt Petunia screamed again. Ignoring Uncle Vernon's shouts and crouching quickly, Harry searched for the source of the commotion for the third time that night, which he did not cause.

He spotted it right away, a dazed, ruffled barn owl (typical of poor Weasley owls, it's a real miracle it didn't die on the delivery... Giant Diao...) was squatting on the windowsill outside the kitchen when it hit the closed window just now.

Pretending not to hear Uncle Vernon's distressed cry Owl!

Harry walked across the room and opened the window.

The owl, with its legs together and a small roll of parchment in its beak, shook its feathers and fled the instant Harry had the letter.

With trembling hands, Harry opened the second letter, which was rather scribbled and written in cheap black ink.

Harry:

Dumbledore had just arrived at the Ministry of Magic, and he was doing his best to settle the matter. Don't leave your uncle and aunt's house. Don't cast any magic again. Don't hand over your wand.

Arthur Weasley.

Dumbledore was doing his best to settle the matter, what exactly did that mean? How much power does Dumbledore have to disregard the orders of the Ministry of Magic? So, is there any chance for him to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

A little hope sprouted in Harry's heart, but it was quickly killed by fear; what was he going to do to refuse to surrender his wand without using magic?

He'd have to duel representatives of the Ministry of Magic, and if he did, he'd be thrown in Azkaban, not just expelled.

His mind was racing, he could run away and risk being wanted by the Ministry of Magic, or he could stay here and wait for the Ministry of Magic to find him. He found the former option very tempting, but he knew Mr. Weasley was sincere, and anyway, it was better not to make matters worse until Dumbledore tried to solve it.

Correct, said Harry, I've changed my mind. I'm going to stay here.

He dashed to the kitchen table to face Dudley and Aunt Petunia.

The Dursleys seemed puzzled by Harry's sudden change of mind. Aunt Petunia stared at Uncle Vernon hopelessly. The blood vessels on the latter's purple face are more prominent than those exposed just now.

Where did all these goddamn owls come from? he grumbled.

The first is the owl directly under the Ministry of Magic, which came to fire me, Harry said calmly. He was pricking up his ears to catch any movement outside, and in case representatives of the Ministry of Magic were approaching here, it was better to answer Uncle Vernon's questions more concisely and quietly than to make him rage and growl.

The second came from my friend Ron's father, who works for the Ministry of Magic.

Ministry of Magic? cried Uncle Vernon. Guys like you are in the government! Oh, that explains everything, everything, and there's no doubt our country is dying.

When Harry didn't respond, Uncle Vernon stared at him, then slapped him across the face, Then why did they fire you?

Because I use magic.

Aha! cried Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist on the top of the refrigerator, and some of Dudley's low-calorie snacks spilled out and spilled on the floor.

So you used magic! What did you do to Dudley?

Nothing, said Harry, his voice a little lacking in composure, that's not me—

It's you. Dudley muttered without warning, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia immediately signaled Harry to be quiet, and at the same time bent over Dudley.

Go on, son, said Uncle Vernon. What did he do?

Tell us, dear, whispered Aunt Petunia too.

He pointed his wand at me, Dudley murmured. Yes, I did, but I didn't use— Harry began to rage, but...

Harry didn't seem to know how to explain it, obviously he saved the pig, the dementor almost sucked Dudley's soul out, but the Muggles couldn't see it... Those dementors , only those who can capture the magic power can discover...

Shut up! yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together. Go on, son, repeated Uncle Vernon, his mustache bristling with rage.

Everything's gone black, Dudley screamed hoarsely, shaking all over. Everything went black. Then I heard—heard a voice in my head.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged a look of absolute horror. If the thing they hate most in the world is magic—and this one, for their neighbors who lie more than they do, is followed by a ban on hoses (a ban on watering gardens because of the drought water decree)... people always have a love and hate in this kind of thing. The Dursleys clearly thought Dudley had lost his mind.

What did you hear? said Aunt Petunia, pale and with tears in her eyes.

But Dudley didn't seem able to go any further.

He was shaking again and shaking his fat blond head vigorously, feeling a certain curiosity despite the numbness to fear that had gripped Harry since the first owl had arrived. .

Dementors make a man relive the worst moments of his life. What would the spoiled, overfed, bullied Dudley be forced to hear?

Bullied by him?

I remember that when Fred and George came, it was the stage when Dudley was most afraid of him, or else...

Harry couldn't figure it out, after all, the difference between Dudley and him was too great, the difference between an ordinary pig...and a wizard...

And how did you fall on your head next, son? asked Uncle Vernon, in that uncharacteristically calm tone he only used around the dying.

Stumbling, Dudley said weakly. And then— His hand pointed at the fat chest.

Harry got it. Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled his lungs and sucked all joy out of him. It's horrible, Dudley cried hoarsely. Cold. Really cold.

Okay, said Uncle Vernon in a tone of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia anxiously placed a hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his warmth.

And what happened, Dudley?

Feel-feel-feel-as-like-as-hell...

As if you'd never be happy again, Harry added dully. +

Yes, whispered Dudley, still shaking.

Therefore! Uncle Vernon's voice returned to that high pitch, as if he were clarifying the truth. You cast some crazy spell on my son, so he hears a voice and thinks he's—doomed, or something, isn't it?

How many times do you want me to tell you? said Harry, his temper and voice rising, That's not me! Those are two Dementors!

Two—what are you babbling about?

S-soul-monsters, Harry said clearly and slowly, two.

Then what are these creatures of hell doing?

They guard the wizard's prison, Azkaban, said Aunt Petunia. After these words and two seconds of silence, Aunt Petunia covered her mouth as if she had let a loathsome curse slip from her mouth.

Uncle Vernon stared at her.

Harry's brain was dizzy. It was Mrs. Figg once—couldn't Aunt Petunia be too?

How do you know this? Uncle Vernon asked Aunt Petunia in surprise. Aunt Petunia also looked at herself in amazement. She stared at Uncle Vernon with a frightened apology, then lowered her hand slightly and bared her horse teeth.

I overheard - that scary kid - tell her about the dementors years ago, she said hesitantly.

If you're talking about my parents, why don't you use their names? Harry said loudly, but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She looked terrified and flustered.

Harry fainted.

Harry had never heard his mother mentioned by Aunt Petunia, except for the outburst a year earlier, and the only time his aunt had screamed that Harry's mother was a freak.

Weird thinking?

For Muggles, wizards are indeed the type with problematic thinking, and in the eyes of wizards, Muggles are the kind of spiritually undeveloped kind...

To Harry's amazement, though, Aunt Petunia could still remember what she'd heard about the Scale Feather in the wizarding world all those years ago, when she was doing her best to pretend that the wizarding world didn't exist at all.

You know, from when my mother went to Hogwarts to when they died——to when I went to Hogwarts, the years in between...

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, obviously at a loss for what to say, and when he opened his mouth for the third time he finally said hoarsely: So-so-they-they Is—they really exist, are they—actual?”

Aunt Petunia nodded.

From Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry, Uncle Vernon seemed to wish someone would tell him it was April Fool's Day. Seeing that no one was doing it, he spoke again, but the meager proverbs he had managed to find were interrupted by the visit of the third owl tonight.