Chapter 273 Mr. Savior's Worries

"Teacher, I, Maca McLean, is a student who accepts your magic inheritance. Let me deal with this Mr. Riddle!"

To be honest, not many people heard this sentence clearly that night, but this kind of thing is especially convincing when it is passed on by word of mouth.

In short, it was Maca and his teacher Gilderoy Lockhart who drove away Voldemort together. This is the reality under the eyes of everyone, and it is also an undoubted fact.

That night, the most impressive thing was Maca's sudden appearance. Almost everyone's memory was fixed on the icy blue beam of light that pierced through the air.

As for what happened after that, it was secondary.

People only need to understand one thing, that is - after Dumbledore, everyone has a new support, and his name is Gilderoy Lockhart!

How is his strength you ask? joke! The students he taught are so strong, he must be even stronger himself!

Public opinion is always blind, but it is also full of power.

This time, "The Quibbler" edited by Mr. Lovegood published the incident earlier than the "Daily Prophet". With Maca's promotional efforts for the audio-visual conference, Mr. Lovegood really did well this time. made a lot of money.

Although this is inseparable from Maca's prior reminder, Mr. Lovegood's trust also brought him a lot of "encouragement".

Voldemort retreated strategically this time, but when he will come back next time is still an unknown question.

However, although Voldemort, who has been frustrated twice in a row, seems to have calmed down a lot, but the big things don't happen, but the small things still keep going. Recently, the Order of the Phoenix has taken more actions than before.

In fact, the overall situation will not get better because of the boost in morale this time. After all, the root cause has not been eliminated, even if it seems to be temporarily stabilized, what should be faced will eventually be faced.

Fortunately, because of Maca's audio-visual meeting plan, a large number of dark wizards and Death Eaters were re-arrested, and the bad influence of the previous prison escape was greatly reduced.

"The weather is getting hotter and hotter!"

Maca put down the quill and sighed,

He picked up the white medicine bottle on the table and poured two drops under his feet. Immediately, a faint chill rose up, and a coolness spread all over the body.

"Oh—comfort!"

...

The hottest day since summer is finally coming to an end.

After that night, Harry went back to the Dursleys' house and went back to his usual boring Muggle life. His range of activities remained unchanged, except for his own room, in fact, there was only the hydrangea cluster outside the window.

What he saw and heard that night had a great impact on Harry. No, it's fair to say that it had a huge impact on everyone, including Hermione and Ron.

But at least, they won't worry about their foreheads, will they?

"Thank goodness, that kid finally stopped poking around... Uh, where did he go?"

In the house, Uncle Vernon Dursley suddenly spoke, and Harry lay lazily under the flowers, listening idly.

"I don't know," said Aunt Petunia indifferently, "I'm not home anyway."

This caused Uncle Vernon to mutter disapprovingly again.

"That kid actually likes to watch the news!" he said meanly, "I wonder what he's up to. A normal brat, who cares about the news! Dudley doesn't know anything about current affairs, and I doubt he even No one knows who the Prime Minister is! Hell, there's no way we've got anything about them in the news—"

"Hush, Vernon!" said Aunt Petunia. "The window's open!"

"Oh! Yes . . . I'm sorry, dear."

The Dursleys finally fell silent again.

Harry, listening to some commercial chants about fruit and bran breakfasts, looked at Mrs. Figg, a queer old lady with lots of cats who lived in Wisteria Lane not far from here.

She was walking slowly, frowning, muttering something.

Luckily, Harry thought, he was hiding behind a bush, because Mrs Figg had been inviting him to tea whenever she came across him in the street lately.

Not long after, she turned the corner and disappeared.

At this time, Uncle Vernon's voice came out of the window again: "Did little Dudley go out for tea?"

"To the Purkis's," said Aunt Petunia lovingly. "He's got so many friends and everybody likes him so much!"

Harry struggled to keep himself from snorting.

The Durnleys were astonishingly stupid when it came to their precious son Dudley. Every evening during the summer Dudley made up the stupid lie about going to one of his cronies for tea, and they believed it!

Harry knew very well that Dudley wasn't going anywhere for tea at all, that he and his buddies spent every night vandalizing in the playground, smoking on street corners, and throwing stones at passing cars and children.

Harry had seen them do this on his evening walks in Little Whinging.

He spent most of the summer vacation wandering the streets, picking up newspapers from the trash cans along the way and reading-to be honest, this was much more comfortable than staying at the Dursleys' house all the time.

The opening song of the seven o'clock news reached Harry's ears, and he pricked up his ears quickly, listening with a little nervousness.

"...Baggage porters strike in Spain enters second week, holidaymakers stranded at airports..."

"If it were me, I'd let them enjoy naps for life." As soon as the newscaster finished speaking, Uncle Vernon roared viciously, but it didn't matter, a stone in Harry's heart in the flower bed outside had already fallen to the ground.

If something did happen, it would surely be headlines, with death and disaster far more important than holidaymakers stranded at airports.

He breathed a sigh of relief slowly and looked up at the clear blue sky.

Almost every day this summer has been like this: tension, anticipation, momentary relief, and then a little bit of tension.

And a question is becoming more and more pressing: Why hasn't something happened yet?

He kept listening, just in case there were some obscure clues that the Muggles hadn't figured out what was going on - like someone missing for no apparent reason, or a strange accident.

But news of the baggage handlers' strike was followed by drought in the South East, and then a helicopter nearly crashed in a field in Surrey, and then a famous actress divorced her famous husband.

The Dursleys' complaints were as fierce and stupid as ever. In contrast, the plain news broadcast made Harry feel more at ease.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, because the sunset glow in the sky became a little dazzling.

"Finally Bungie the budgerigar has found a new way to stay cool this summer! Lives at Bungie in Five Feather Street, Barnsley, and has learned to water-ski! Detail by Mary Dorkin .”

Voldemort has indeed returned, he even saw it with his own eyes at the audio-visual conference! However, nothing bad seems to have happened in the Muggle world.

Is it true that nothing happened? Or...was there actually an accident that was just covered up by the British Ministry of Magic?

Now that we've talked about water skiing by budgerigars, it looks like there won't be much news worth hearing. He rolled over cautiously and got up on his knees and elbows, ready to climb away from the window on his hands and feet.

Yet, dare he say it, he's only climbed two inches!

But with such a distance of two inches, several things happened one after another, and it was really too late.

A loud, echoing crack, like a gunshot, pierces the sleepy silence; a cat leaps out from under a parked car and disappears; Dursley There was a scream, a curse, and the sound of china breaking in the living room.

Harry seemed to have been waiting for this signal. He stood up suddenly, and at the same time drew a thin wooden wand from his jeans pocket like a sword-but before he could stand upright completely, his head hit at the open window of the Dursleys' house. There was a bang, which made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.

Harry was in so much pain that he thought his head had been split in half, and tears welled up in his eyes.

He swayed and looked at the street, trying to clear his blurred vision so that he could figure out where the sound was coming from.

But just as he managed to stand upright, two big purple-red hands stretched out from the open window and grabbed his throat tightly.

"Put - put away - the stick!" Uncle Vernon yelled, grabbing Harry's ear. "Come on! Don't let - people - see it!"

"Let... let... me!" Harry gasped.

They wrestled for a few seconds, Harry snapping off his uncle's thick sausage-like fingers with his left hand, while still firmly gripping his raised wand with his right.

Then, there was a sharp pain in the top of Harry's already painful head.

Uncle Vernon let go of Harry with a yelp, as if from an electric shock. It seemed as if an invisible force had surged within his nephew, preventing him from grasping him.

Harry flung himself out of breath among the hydrangeas, then straightened up and looked around.

He couldn't see where the explosion just now came from, but there were a few faces protruding from various windows around him. Harry tucked his wand into his jeans quickly, pretending nothing happened.

"What a night!" exclaimed Uncle Vernon, waving at the lady across the way, who was staring out from behind the mesh curtains. "Did you hear the backfire of the car just now? It scared Petunia and me." It's a big jump!"

He had that ugly, lunatic grin on his face until the curious neighbors disappeared from their various windows.

That's when his smile suddenly turned into a ferocious scowl, and he motioned for Harry to come back to him.

Harry moved forward a few steps, stopping carefully just in time to prevent Uncle Vernon's outstretched hands from grabbing his throat again.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?" demanded Uncle Vernon in a low voice trembling slightly with anger.

"Uh... Excuse me, may I ask... do you know how to get to Hogwarts?" Suddenly, a soft, timid voice sounded from behind Harry, "...I seem to... …be lost."