On July 12th, at Hermione's invitation, after instructing Dobby to look after the house, Sirius Black drove his newly tinkered Ford Explorer (a magically widened and lengthened version) with Harry Potter along the road leading to the Forest of Dean.
Initially, Sirius had planned for the two of them to fly there on broomsticks, but considering the sheer amount of luggage they were bringing, he eventually agreed to Harry's suggestion of traveling by car. Five days later, Sirius pulled up to Harry's doorstep in the Ford Explorer, much to Harry's astonishment.
"So, what do you think? I worked on this Muggle car with a friend not long ago," Sirius boasted proudly to Harry, showing off his recently reassembled vehicle. "Looks pretty good, doesn't it? Muggles seem to call this type of car an SUV. I've no idea what 'SUV' stands for, but this thing is seriously practical!"
It was a sleek black SUV with smooth, flowing lines and a sturdy, imposing design. The front featured a wide grille flanked by rectangular headlights, giving it an air of dominance. A distinct waistline ran along the sides, adding depth to its appearance. The wheels were fitted with silver five-spoke rims and thick tires, perfect for off-road driving. A roof rack sat atop the vehicle, ideal for carrying extra gear. But knowing Sirius, Harry was certain the interior had undergone some major magical modifications.
Pulling open the door and climbing inside, Harry's suspicions were confirmed. The back seats stretched out to an exaggerated length—easily enough to seat a dozen people. With a sigh, Harry clambered out from the rear. "My dear godfather, you really are a textbook Gryffindor, aren't you…"
"Of course I am!" Sirius puffed out his chest with pride. "The Sorting Hat didn't hesitate for a second before putting me and James in the same house!"
Well, he certainly seemed proud of that.
The first rays of morning sunlight pierced through the thin mist, gently spilling onto the straight asphalt road stretching into the distance. Harry sat in the passenger seat, engrossed in an ancient alchemy book, while beside him, Sirius—who had just earned his Muggle driver's license— reveled in the freedom of the nearly empty highway. The car radio blared "Careless Whisper" by Wham!, and their luggage was tossed into the back, where ten people could sit side by side without feeling cramped.
"Hey, Harry, we're out here to have fun—stop burying your nose in a book," Sirius said, clad in a black jacket, bobbing his head rhythmically to the music. "You're young! You should be enjoying the joys of youth!"
"Sirius, I think you should focus on driving—maybe take off those sunglasses. I'd rather not spend the rest of my days as a ghost," Harry replied, glancing at Sirius, whose head swayed back and forth. His eyes lingered on the sunglasses perched on Sirius's face for a few seconds before he quipped dryly.
They set off at dawn, taking in the scenery along the way, driving and stopping intermittently for over four hours before arriving at ten in the morning at the parking lot outside the Forest of Dean, where they'd agreed to meet the Grangers. Mr. Granger, in particular, showed considerable admiration for Sirius's car—especially after climbing into the spacious back seat.
While Sirius chatted with Mr. Granger about car-related topics, Harry and Hermione eagerly discussed the ancient alchemy book. Just then, the Weasley family rolled into the parking lot in their own Ford—a decades-old Anglia 105E.
"Muggle technology really is something, isn't it?" Mrs. Weasley remarked to Mr. Weasley as they stepped out. "You'd never guess it could fit so many people just by looking at it!"
Dressed in a plaid shirt and trousers, the slightly balding Mr. Weasley opened the car door, first exchanging a warm hug with Sirius, then shaking hands with Mr. Granger. He then turned to direct Ron, George, and the others to unload the Muggle camping gear—tents and the like—that Sirius had gifted them from the car's trunk.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley, also dressed in Muggle attire, struck up a conversation with Mrs. Granger about the little domestic trifles of family life.
Since there were no roads suitable for cars within the forest, at Mr. Granger's suggestion, they rented a few bicycles, strapped the tents and luggage to the rear racks, and set off on foot, pushing the bikes into the forest.
On either side of the man-made path—designed for walking or cycling—sunlight filtered through gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows onto the moss-covered ground. Squirrels leaped between treetops, foraging for nuts and berries, while occasionally, a deer would poke its head out from the bushes, curiously observing its surroundings. The distant tapping of a woodpecker echoed through the woods. Though it was a forest, it felt entirely different from the Forbidden Forest.
At the forest's edge, a narrow trail wound through dense shrubbery, guiding hikers deeper into its heart. Tall trees lined the path, their trunks entwined with vines, forming a natural green barrier. As Harry and the others walked through patches of cool shade, savoring the forest's tranquility, far across Britain at Malfoy Manor, the Malfoy family trembled in deathly silence.
"M-Master, I swear, that diary was just an accident. Our family will always be your most loyal servants. Master, if you ever need us, the Malfoys will throw ourselves into fire and water for you without hesitation," Lucius Malfoy stammered, kneeling on the spotless floor. He cautiously eyed the pair of shoes hidden beneath the black robes before him, his voice thick with fear. Behind him, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy knelt with their heads bowed in the same submissive posture.
Voldemort sat in a chair, idly twirling Lucius's wand in his hand. His blood-red eyes glinted with cold indifference. Behind him stood a silent group of Death Eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew.
"Lucius, my friend," Voldemort said, his tone laced with mockery as he studied the man groveling before him, "I hear you suffered quite a loss at the hands of that Harry Potter? Not only were you tortured into St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, but you also had to pay Potter a hefty sum for it?"
"Y-Yes, Master," Lucius replied, still kneeling. "I hate that Potter. But I couldn't defeat Dumbledore, and now, not even Potter… However, Master, if you'd be willing to step in—"
"Silence, Lucius!" Bellatrix Lestrange snapped coldly. "The great Dark Lord has his own plans. Do you think he'd alter them for the sake of a mere Malfoy?"
"Enough, Bella," Voldemort said, raising a hand in the air. Bellatrix immediately fell silent, obediently stepping back among the Death Eaters. "Lucius, my friend, I understand your hatred for Potter and Dumbledore." He reached out, resting a hand on Lucius's trembling shoulder. "And since you despise them so much, I have a suggestion. Your son is at Hogwarts, isn't he? Why not have him try to assassinate Dumbledore? How does that sound? As a reward, I'll even permit him to join the Death Eaters."
Lucius's trembling body stiffened, but he didn't dare lift his head to meet Voldemort's gaze.
"B-But, Master, Draco is just a child—and Hogwarts is crawling with Dumbledore's spies. I'm worried—"
"No matter," Voldemort said with a smile, lifting Lucius's wand. An irresistible force compelled the Malfoy family to rise from the floor. "I've already sent my most trusted assistant to Hogwarts to aid you. Now, Lucius, my friend, as the master of this manor, shouldn't you fulfill your duties as host and entertain your guests who've traveled so far?"
"Y-Yes, Master. I'll arrange it immediately!" Lucius replied, leading his wife and son out of the hall with bowed heads and utmost deference.
"Harry Potter…" Voldemort murmured the name of the Boy Who Lived under his breath as he dismissed his Death Eaters with a wave of his hand, settling back into his chair.
Compared to the increasingly comfortable and convenient travel methods of ordinary people, wizarding travel—whether by broomstick, Knight Bus, or Floo Network—left Harry feeling distinctly uneasy. Take this trip to the Burrow via the Floo Network, for instance.
Harry first choked on the dust kicked up by tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. Then, as he whirled through the network between fireplaces, he felt himself spinning faster and faster. His elbows pressed tightly against his sides as countless fireplaces flashed before his eyes in a blur too rapid to discern. Just when he thought he might be sick, the dizzying whirlwind of images abruptly stopped.
Thanks to Harry's quick reflexes, he avoided tumbling headfirst out of the Weasley fireplace and crashing into Ron. Instead, he emerged with a sliding tackle that knocked Ron off his feet—though, for Ron, the difference was negligible.
"Harry, you alright?" Hermione asked, reaching down to pull him up. With a flick of her wand, she repaired his cracked glasses and cast a quick Scourgify to clean him up.
"Other than nearly throwing up in the fireplace, I'm fine," Harry said, crossing the tiny kitchen to sit at the table, steadying himself against the lingering dizziness.
"Hermione, where are your parents? Aren't they coming?" Harry asked once he'd recovered, glancing at Hermione and Ron as they sat beside him.
"They were planning to, but an old client suddenly needed a dental appointment, so…" Hermione shrugged, pulling out a thick copy of Hogwarts: A History from somewhere and flipping to a bookmarked page to continue reading.
The reason Harry and Hermione had gathered at the Weasleys' was, of course, the upcoming Quidditch World Cup in Britain. Sirius had intended to join them, but given the Burrow's already high population density, he decided to meet them at the World Cup campsite instead.
According to Ron's earlier letter, the Quidditch World Cup was set for Monday night. Since Britain hadn't won the cup in thirty years, tickets were hard to come by. Mr. Weasley had only managed to secure a few prime seats through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance, Harry. You've got to come see it. You can't imagine how amazing it is when wizards from all over the world gather together!" Ron had written.
"Come on, Harry, I'll show you your room!" Ron said, noticing Harry had mostly recovered from his dizziness. He stood, leading Harry and Hermione upstairs.
They navigated the narrow hallway and climbed the creaky staircase, the wooden steps groaning under their feet. As they passed the second-floor landing, a door swung open, and a face framed by horn-rimmed glasses poked out, its expression visibly irritated.
"Hello, Percy," Harry said.
"Oh, hello, Harry," Percy replied with a curt nod before launching into a complaint. "I don't know who's making all this racket. I'm trying to work here—writing a report for the office—but people keep stomping up and down the stairs. It's impossible to focus."
"We're not stomping!" Ron retorted, annoyed. "We're walking. And if our walking accidentally disturbs the top-secret work the Ministry's entrusted to you, well, sorry about that!"
"What are you working on, Percy?" Harry asked, peering into the tidy room behind the door, where stacks of files sat neatly on a desk.
"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Percy said proudly. "We're preparing to catalog and legitimize some unregistered religions circulating among wizards and Muggles. You know, lately—especially in Britain—strange new sects keep popping up. According to the data, new religions are growing at a rate of nearly ten percent per year—"
"Impressive," Ron interjected. "This report's going to change the world. I bet the Daily Prophet will splash it across the front page: 'Mad Surge in Religious Cults!'"
Percy's face flushed pink.
"Go ahead and mock me, Ron," he said heatedly, "but we need some kind of international law. Otherwise, we'll be surrounded by bizarre believers—imagine it, a mix of Muggles and wizards worshipping odd things. It could seriously jeopardize—"
"Alright, alright," Ron cut in, starting up the stairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut with a huff.
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