The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 332 From the Burrow: Quidditch World Cup

Chapter 332 From the Burrow to the Quidditch World Cup (6K) (1/2)

Four days passed in an eerie calm at No. 4 Privet Road.

For the Dursleys, these four days were filled with restrained awkwardness and suppressed anticipation.

Uncle Vernon no longer yelled at Harry, and would even occasionally ask him stiffly if he needed a second slice of toast, though his tone was more like an interrogation; Aunt Petunia completely avoided direct eye contact with Harry, but Harry's food portions were indeed normal, and Dudley no longer tried to "accidentally" knock over his things.

A fragile balance, built on money and a vague sense of fear, has temporarily enveloped this place.

Harry spent most of his time in his room, taking the tranquilizer Lynch had left behind.

The potion worked wonders; he was no longer plagued by shattered nightmares at night, and the stinging of his scars had lessened to a faint, intermittent throbbing. Following his Uncle Lynch's instructions, he tried to remain calm, played with Hedwig, reread Quidditch magazine, and counted down the days until he was ready to go.

On the morning of the fourth day, this fragile peace was shattered when Sirius Black drove his new, enormous, roaring flying motorcycle and slammed on the over-manicured lawn in front of No. 4 Privet Drive with a boastful screech of brakes.

Sirius Black, riding his motorcycle, wore a Muggle leather jacket, yet his untamed wizard-like aura was undeniable.

His face showed obvious fatigue, and his eyes were bloodshot, clearly indicating that he hadn't rested much these past few days while "cleaning the house," but he also exuded an eager excitement.

He held an inconspicuous cloth bag in his hand, inside which was a freshly made potion that Lynch had secretly given him that morning.

Vernon Dursley opened the door once again. His face flushed red when he saw Sirius Black and the motorcycle that clearly didn't belong to the "normal" category, but thinking of the large sum of money he would receive at Christmas, he swallowed his roar and stepped aside with twitching facial muscles.

"I've come to pick up Harry." Sirius said succinctly, striding into the door as if he were returning to his own home.

Harry had already heard the commotion and rushed down the stairs with an undisguised, radiant smile on his face and his green eyes sparkling with genuine light.

"Sirius!" He almost lunged forward, but stopped a few steps later, just grinning.

The "peaceful" four days did not make him feel comfortable; on the contrary, it felt more like torture. Seeing his godfather at this moment was the real relief.

Sirius ruffled his hair vigorously and looked him over carefully: "You look better. Have you packed everything?"

""

"It's all packed up already!" Harry pointed to an old box in the corner containing all his important belongings, a backpack, and Hedwig's cage.

The process of leaving was simpler than I could have imagined.

There was no grand farewell, no insincere formalities.

Penny peeked out from the kitchen doorway, her pale face half visible, while Dudley peeked from the corner of the stairs.

Vernon simply stood in the foyer, like a mountain of suppressed discontent, and said in a gruff voice, "Remember—come back on time." It was unclear whether he was referring to Harry or the ongoing compensation.

Sirius simply snorted in response.

He handed the cloth bag to Harry: "Lynch asked me to bring this to you. There are two vials of potions inside, with instructions on the labels. They're very important, so be sure to drink them on time."

Harry accepted it solemnly and nodded.

"Then let's go." Sirius picked up Harry's backpack, put his other hand naturally on Harry's shoulder, and led him outside. Hedwig's cage floated lightly behind them.

Stepping out of that white door and breathing in the fresh outdoor air again, Harry felt a weight lift from his shoulders, as if an invisible burden had been lifted. He looked back one last time at 4 Privet Drive, his feelings a mix of emotions, but mostly an eagerness to move forward.

"Hold on tight!" Sirius straddled the motorcycle, and Harry skillfully sat behind him, hugging his waist.

The motorcycle roared deafeningly, its wheels churning the lawn and soaring into the sky, leaving the Dursleys' house and Privet Road far below, reduced to miniature models.

Flying is exhilarating; the wind whistles, and the clouds are almost within reach.

Sirius was driving fast, but very steadily.

They flew over fields, rivers, and towns, finally landing on a remote country road. Not far away, a crooked house, seemingly built by magic, stood there, with warm smoke rising from its chimney.

We've arrived at our humble abode.

The motorcycle landed on a country road near the Burrow. Harry took off his goggles, and when he saw the crooked, dilapidated house in front of him...

Upon seeing the magically stacked houses, the excited smile turned into confusion.

"Sirius—how did we end up at the Burrow?" He looked up at the Burrow, which seemed ready to collapse at any moment, yet was teeming with life and emitting smoke from its chimney. He then looked back at Sirius. "Weren't we going to Grimmauld Place?"

He remembered his godfather's promise to take him to live at his home. Although his uncle Lynch said he needed to wait for his godfather to "finish his business," the house in front of him was clearly not the old Blake family mansion.

Is there something you need to take care of on the way? That's perfect, I can also see Ron.

Thinking of this, Harry became happy again.

Sirius's movements paused almost imperceptibly for a moment, a complex expression flashing across his face—a mixture of embarrassment, apology, and a hint of helplessness.

He quickly ruffled Harry's hair, trying to cover it up with a casual tone: "Ah, well—the plans have changed a little, Harry. Number 12 Grimmauld Place, well—it needs more cleaning than I thought." He waved his hand vaguely, as if brushing away unseen dust and cobwebs. "You know, old houses, they've accumulated too much—history." Some rooms aren't safe either; that old geezer Kreacher is still hiding some rather unsavory little things around. I'm not comfortable letting you move in now.

9

He noticed the expectant light in Harry's eyes dimming slightly and quickly added, his tone more earnest: "Arthur, Molly, and I have discussed it—oh, you know, Ron's parents, the Weasleys, you remember—they'd be very happy for you to stay here. It'll be lively, with Ron and the other kids to keep you company, and Molly's cooking will warm your soul! And," he lowered his voice, winking, "aren't you going to the Quidditch World Cup soon? It'll be more convenient to get there from here! Think of it as—a warm-up camp before the World Cup, how about it?"

He patted Harry's shoulder hard, trying to make his smile even brighter: "Don't worry, once I've completely cleaned up that old relic of Grimmauld Place and made it habitable, I'll definitely take you there to see it as soon as possible! I promise! But for this summer vacation, stay here with your friends, okay? This place is much better for you than my house is in its current state."

As Harry listened to his godfather's explanation, his initial disappointment was gradually replaced by understanding.

He recalled the old house rumors he had heard from friends—ancient, dark, full of black magic objects and traps.

The Godfather was right; if the place was still being cleaned up and renovated, it wasn't suitable to move in immediately. Besides, being able to stay with Ron and the others beforehand and prepare to watch the World Cup together was one of his dream summer plans. Although it was a bit of a shame that he couldn't go to the Godfather's house right away, the Burrow's allure was just as great.

He nodded, a genuine and relaxed smile returning to his face. "I understand, Sirius. It's very nice here, really."

As he looked at the familiar figures peering out of the Burrow's window, and at Mrs. Weasley's warm figure in an apron appearing from the doorway, the last trace of gloom in his heart dissipated.

"That's right!" Sirius breathed a sigh of relief, put his arm around his shoulder and walked toward the Burrow. "Remember, listen to Mrs. Weasley here, but have fun too! And of course, make sure to drink your potions on time." He reminded him again.

Before they even got close, a cheerful commotion erupted from the house that looked like it could collapse at any moment.

Ron was the first to rush out, his red hair like a ball of flame, his face beaming with delight: "Harry! You really came!"

Mom said Sirius Black sent you here!

Next came Mrs. Weasley, wearing an apron and a genuine, warm, maternal smile, her arms outstretched: "Oh, dear Harry! Welcome! Come in, lunch will be ready soon! Sirius, you come too, you must stay for lunch!"

The twins Fred and George peeked out of the window, whistling; Ginny peeked out from behind the door, blushing; Mr. Weasley also came out and shook hands with Sirius warmly.

The bustling, noisy, and vibrant chaos contrasts sharply with the deathly "neatness" of Privet Drive, creating a stark contrast between heaven and hell.

Harry was enveloped by this warm wave, feeling somewhat overwhelmed, yet his heart felt as if it had been soothed.

He finally smiled, a smile that came naturally after arriving at the humble abode.

Sirius Black watched as Harry was ushered into the house by the Weasleys, a hint of relief and relaxation flashing in his eyes.

"Sirius, you absolutely have to stay for lunch!" Mrs. Weasley said, grabbing Harry in one hand and Sirius in the other, her words leaving no room for argument. "I've made enough stew and Yorkshire pudding for the First Legion! Arthur's also eager to tell you about the latest modifications to that motorcycle!"

"Well then—I'll gladly accept, Molly." Sirius grinned. "It smells so good, I can't resist."

Lunch was a delightful feast.

The long kitchen table was packed with people, plates piled high with food, and the air was filled with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of cutlery. Sirius and Mr. Weasley chatted about the amusing combination of Muggle machinery and magical vehicles, and he exchanged prank ideas with the twins—which would elicit occasional warning snorts from Molly—but most of the time, his gaze was fixed on Harry.

He watched Harry and Ron fight over the last piece of roast meat on the plate, watched him laugh at the Weasley brothers' jokes, watched him relax naturally in this chaotic yet loving environment, his gray eyes filled with relief and a deep, tender sense of contentment.

This was a thousand times better than any pure-blood family feast he could remember, reminding him of the time he stayed at James's house.

After dinner, Harry and Ron rushed upstairs to put down their luggage and check Ron's holiday homework. Actually, they mainly discussed Quidditch and the World Cup. Mr. Weasley messed up the dishwashing magic and was chased away by Molly with a laugh. The twins, on the other hand, slipped away to tinker with their latest invention.

Sirius helped tidy up the table, then stood at the entrance of the Burrow, watching the afternoon sun shine into the crowded but vibrant courtyard.

He knew he had to leave; if he stayed any longer, he feared he would be even more reluctant to leave.

Molly walked over, holding a small package of cakes wrapped in paper.

"Take some to eat on the road, darling," she said gently, her eyes shining with understanding. "He'll be fine here, I promise. You also need to be careful and don't just focus on messing around with that old house."

"Thank you, Molly." Sirius took the cake, his voice a little low. "Really. This means a lot to him."

"We know," Arthur said, walking over and patting him on the shoulder. "You're always welcome. Remember, you're not alone."

Sirius nodded, his throat tightening slightly.

He looked up and called out to the building, "Harry! I'm leaving!"

Harry peered out of a window, with Ron beside him.

"Wait, Sirius! I'm coming down right now!" Hurried footsteps immediately came from upstairs.

Sirius felt a warmth in his heart, but he immediately raised his voice, his tone firm: "No need to come down, Harry! Stay here with Ron!" He paused, making his voice sound more relaxed, "Didn't we agree to use the two-way mirror? We'll see each other again soon!" Listen to me!

The footsteps upstairs stopped.

A few seconds later, Harry appeared at the window around the corner of the stairs, his face showing obvious reluctance, his green eyes looking at him. "Godfather—"

"That's it, Harry!" Sirius waved vigorously, a big, carefree smile spreading across his face. "Have fun! Remember to take your medicine on time! I'll get in touch with you soon!"

He gave himself no further words, nor did he give Harry any more chance to insist. He turned decisively, strode towards the flying motorcycle parked outside the yard, and straddled it with swift, clean movements. The engine emitted its familiar roar.

The motorcycle slowly lifted off. Sirius glanced back one last time at Harry, who was still peering out the window, while Ron leaned out beside him. The Weasleys stood in the doorway, waving goodbye.

He waved goodbye to them all one last time, then suddenly twisted the accelerator.

The flying motorcycle let out an even louder roar, suddenly accelerated, and shot into the distance like a black arrow, quickly becoming a small dot under the blue sky before finally disappearing.

Only when it was completely out of sight did Harry reluctantly turn his gaze away from the window.

He felt a void in his heart, but the Godfather's words, "I'll contact you soon," and the promise from the two-way mirror reassured him. Moreover, Ron was excitedly planning the afternoon's activities right beside him, and the warm atmosphere of the Burrow enveloped him.

"He'll be back soon, I'm sure of it." Ron patted him on the shoulder, his tone confident. "He might even come to you tomorrow through the two-way mirror to complain about what new flavor of pie my mom invented!"

Harry chuckled and nodded.

Yes, the Godfather has his business to attend to, and I need to enjoy this summer vacation that has truly begun.

After several warm and lively days at the Burrow, the morning finally arrived for our departure for the Quidditch World Cup.

The night before, Harry and Ron were so excited about the upcoming event that they lay in the dark and talked in hushed tones about Quidditch tactics, famous Seekers, and their respective teams until they finally drifted off to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

So when the door was pushed open with a bang and Hermione's clear, somewhat urgent voice rang out, both boys jumped out of bed like startled goblins.

"Harry! Ron! Time to get up! We have to hurry and get ready!" Hermione stood at the door, dressed in a neat Muggle travel outfit, her hair seemingly more voluminous than usual, arms crossed.

Ron, still half-asleep and with his hair a mess, squinted at the person who entered and let out a disgruntled groan: "Hermione! This is a boys' room! Couldn't you have knocked?!"

Harry reacted even faster, instinctively grabbing the blanket that had slipped down to his waist and pulling it up to his collarbone with a "whoosh," his cheeks slightly flushed.

He felt hot last night, so he only wore shorts to bed.

In the bright light and under Hermione's composed self-shine, although she quickly looked away, the tips of her ears turned slightly red, and he felt a pang of embarrassment.

"Knock? If we wait for your slow response, we might miss the key!" Hermione said matter-of-factly, but she turned around quickly. "Hurry up and get dressed and come downstairs! Mrs. Weasley has already started making breakfast!" With that, she rushed out the door, her footsteps quickly disappearing into the direction of the stairs.

"Merlin—" Ron muttered, reluctantly getting out of bed and starting to search for his socks in the mess.

Harry quickly put on a T-shirt and jeans, splashed cold water on his face, and tried to wake himself up completely.

The thought of being at the Quidditch World Cup stadium in just a few hours, watching the final between Ireland and Bulgaria, instantly replaced any lingering sleepiness from last night with excitement.

The kitchen downstairs was already bustling with the typical Weasley hustle and bustle that comes with a large family.

Mrs. Weasley, like a conductor, simultaneously controlled several self-mixing bowls, a frying pan for bacon, and tossing bread slices around, all the while constantly reminding everyone to check their luggage. The twins tried to stuff a box of the latest "Weasley's Magic Tricks" product—claimed to create the most spectacular effect in the audience—into their already bulging backpacks, only to be threatened by Mrs. Weasley with a waving spatula. Ginny was helping to set the tables, while Percy was seriously checking the checklist. The air was filled with the enticing aroma of toasted bread, fried eggs, and sausages, mixed with a restless excitement for the upcoming adventure.

After a hurried but hearty breakfast, amidst the chaos, everyone finally gathered all their belongings and marched out of the humble dwelling, their feet glistening with morning dew, toward the meeting point they had arranged with Mr. Diggory—a flat meadow on a small hillside.

Before long, Amos-Diggory and his tall, handsome son Cedric appeared not far away.

Mr. Diggory warmly shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Weasley, and the two fathers soon stepped aside to excitedly discuss the upcoming game and some amusing anecdotes from their work.

Several young people naturally gathered together.

Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's star Seeker, greeted Harry, Ron, and Hermione with his usual warm, friendly smile: "Good morning. I never thought we'd be able to come together, this is wonderful."

"Yes," Harry replied. He had always had a good impression of Cedric. In fact, apart from a few individuals in Slytherin, everyone at Hogwarts had a very good impression of the boy.

Cedric's gaze swept over their group, and he casually asked, "By the way, how are your seats? My dad went to great lengths to get tickets for the middle seats; the view should be pretty good."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a glance.

They did know their tickets were in excellent positions—a result of Uncle Lynch's arrangements. To say it outright felt a bit like bragging, especially in front of Cedric, who had only gotten a middle ticket through his father's efforts.

Ron scratched his nose and explained vaguely, "Well, actually—my dad originally got the tickets from the outer stands. But then—Harry's uncle wrote to say he had better arrangements, so we—well, we got them too. We don't know the exact location; the letter only said someone would meet us at the camp." He tried to downplay it.

Cedric blinked, clearly realizing that this "better arrangement" might mean better treatment than his middle position, but his good manners prevented him from asking for details. He simply smiled knowingly and with a hint of envy: "I see."

It seems you're going to have a fantastic viewing experience. Anyway, just seeing Ireland vs. Bulgaria live is exciting enough, isn't it?

"Absolutely!" Harry nodded immediately, relieved and genuinely excited about the upcoming match.

The conversation quickly returned to players, tactics, and predictions, and the subtle tension among the boys caused by the ticket price difference was quickly dispelled by their shared love for Quidditch.

Ahead, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory seemed to have confirmed something and were calling everyone to gather around.

Weasley reached out and grabbed a rusty, unremarkable old boot from the ground.

"Everyone, listen up! This is the door key. It will activate precisely at six o'clock. Now, put your fingers on it. Yes, everyone must touch it—hold on tight, it might feel a little uncomfortable the first time you use it—"

Harry reached out and touched the cold, earthy-smelling metal shoe buckle.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch, then counted down from ten: "Ten—six—two, one!"

The moment the word "one" fell, Harry felt as if the old boot buckle had suddenly turned into the center of a vortex with a terrifying suction force.

It was as if an invisible giant hand had suddenly hooked the back of his navel with an iron hook, or rather, the center of his entire torso, and then pulled him down with irresistible brute force!

"Ah!" he couldn't help but exclaim softly, and it seemed that other people around him could also be heard screaming or groaning.