On Thursday, during dinner in the Great Hall, while the Little Wizards around them were busy discussing next week's new match schedules, Draco and Harry sat at the end of the long table, quietly discussing the details.
"Did you bring the Invisibility Cloak?" Draco asked cautiously.
"I've never put it down. These things have always been in my bag. Speaking of which, I've also felt recently that my bag is a bit too small; it can't hold so many things.
Do you know where there are good portable backpacks? It would be even better if they matched clothing.
Honestly, small bags still don't quite fit."
"..."
Draco deboned a perfectly roasted lamb chop with a knife and fork while listening to Harry's incessant chatter.
His words were too dense.
"I know, we'll talk about it during the holidays."
Just then, Hedlund also walked over, and the two quickly fell silent.
He patted Harry's shoulder and stood behind him: "Next week is our final day. How are your preparations coming along?"
"Not bad," Draco smiled, puffing out his chest: "I've practiced one or two ultimate moves."
"There shouldn shouldn't be any problems," Harry also nodded: "What about you?"
"No problem for me. My goal is first place!" Hedlund didn't hide his sharp edge, then looked at Harry in surprise.
"Is your Potion ready?"
Their hand movements stiffened, and Harry turned his head in surprise: "You know?"
"Professor Snape's hints were very obvious, but unfortunately... your age group has a low understanding of this magic," Hedlund smiled, then comforted him:
"Although I don't know why you chose this magic, after all, in my opinion, its risks and rewards are completely disproportionate.
But I still wish you good luck.
Don't worry too much. The teachers must know too. If there are any problems, remember to consult the teachers, especially Professor McGonagall. She is one of the registered Animagus."
It seemed he only knew that Harry was practicing Animagus.
"Thanks for your concern," Harry nodded.
Hedlund said no more and turned to Draco: "My father's side is fine, Malfoy. You can start communicating with your father.
Also, if needed, I can write to your father."
"Is it ready? Good, I'll write to him when I get back," Draco nodded quickly. He had been focusing on the dueling competition recently and had almost forgotten about the trip to the Muggle world. If Hedlund hadn't come, he probably wouldn't have remembered until after Easter.
Then, Hedlund also sat down and discussed the communication details with Draco.
As an eavesdropper, Harry also picked up on the difficulty.
Yes, difficulty—this was a very troublesome matter.
It was like going to the Muggle world.
Just traveling.
But the difficulty wasn't convincing elders about their concern for children, but mainly their prejudice against the Muggle world.
It seemed particularly troublesome.
This made Harry begin to reflect on his words and actions last year... Well, he suddenly felt that his indiscriminate attacks last year were a bit too fierce.
After all, this seemed to be a widespread issue, a deeply rooted ideological problem.
After dinner, Harry went to the back of the one-eyed Witch statue, looked around to confirm no one was present, then waved his wand.
"Finite Incantatem—"
Then, he leaped and fell into the tunnel.
Soon, a figure arrived at the Pigs Head Bar. Aberforth cast a slightly surprised glance, and couldn't help but sigh, thinking how easy children's classes were these days!
"Welcome, what would you like to drink?" he said the welcome words dryly. Harry looked around; the older sister wasn't there, he didn't know where she had gone.
On the bar counter, there was an extra picture frame. Mr. Aberforth's peripheral vision always quickly swept over it whenever he turned his face, as if he dared not look directly at the things in the painting.
"Can I borrow the fireplace?" Harry asked.
"Suit yourself, one Sickle per handful of Floo powder," Aberforth said: "You can only go to some public places. If you mispronounce, you won't know where you'll be directed."
"Oh, okay," Harry nodded repeatedly, taking out three coins.
"Then I'll grab two extra handfuls, just in case."
Aberforth smiled, took the coins, then pursed his lips, motioning Harry to look at a small wooden bowl above the fireplace.
"Thank you," Harry's slightly bowed back stiffened, then he nodded casually and turned to walk towards the fireplace.
He wasn't too used to wearing a mask to handle these matters; Draco had always been in charge of communication before.
Arriving at the fireplace, he thought of the address he had gotten from Paul earlier, then grabbed two handfuls of Floo powder and vigorously threw them down.
"Diagon Alley!"
The next moment, green flames suddenly rose, and Harry only felt his head spin, his whole body as if being forcibly squeezed into a rubber hose.
Then, with a sudden whoosh, he appeared in the Leaky Cauldron.
News among drinkers always spread incredibly fast. The moment he landed, he felt many probing and scrutinizing gazes.
A man wrapped in bandages sighed to the sky, and quickly shrunk back into a corner.
He had been beaten so badly in the Pigs Head Bar that he was scared.
Now that he had run over here, he didn't expect to meet the other party again.
Why is the whole world targeting me?!
However, to his relief, the other party didn't linger there for too long, only looking around before turning to leave.
Seeing the other party disappear from the bar, he sat upright again, and showed a disdainful expression to the neighboring drinker: "Don't look, this guy is just faking it..."
The next moment, the orange cat's head reappeared from behind, its eyes glowing red in the darkness, staring straight at him.
"When will you learn to speak normally? Does someone have to pull out your tongue?"
"Someone already did," someone next to him laughed.
Harry glanced at the person, then walked to the bar, and concisely said: "Get me a bottle of wine, unopened, expensive."
He didn't intend to waste too much time here, and turned to leave.
Arriving at Diagon Alley, he walked non-stop towards the deeper parts.
Most Wizards didn't have a great demand for houses; the family estates and mansions left behind were already sufficient.
The Wizarding village of Godrics Hollow, some unknown old country house, isolated mountain cabins...
However, despite this, with Muggle Wizards coming to the Wizarding World every year, coupled with the Wizarding World's unique anti-Muggle sentiment, most people would join the Wizarding circle after graduation.
So there was still some demand for housing.
That is, a small residential area at the back of Diagon Alley.
131B Diagon Alley.
Harry's figure stopped here. This was a pointed-roof cottage, looking like a series of Wizard hats from afar. Not counting the roof, it was only two stories high.
Next to the street was an alley where garbage had accumulated for a long time, and rats could vaguely be seen scurrying around.
Clearly, the street management here was very poor.
Then, Harry grabbed the door knocker and gently tapped.
No movement.
Then, he increased the force of his knocking.
A moment later, footsteps sounded from within, followed by clanging and banging noises.
The door slowly opened.
A thin man with a bushy beard and greasy hair appeared in the doorway. He lowered his head, his eyes lifeless as he looked at the person outside the door.
"Who are you looking for?"
"Are you Dimo Lung?" Harry asked.
"If I'm not, are you?" The other party's face was impatient, as if he wanted to slam the door.
Harry displayed the wine in his hand, then said: "Then I am indeed looking for you."
"Looking for me..." The Auror training he had once undergone made him detect a slight abnormality.
But very quickly, his thoughts were drawn away by the wine in Harry's hand.
"Dragon's Blood Rum?" Saying this, he snatched the wine bottle, licked his lips, and eagerly aimed the bottle mouth at his nose, sniffing hard.
Then, a look of satisfaction.
He turned directly and entered the house, and Harry followed closely behind.
Clang, clang—
A wine bottle was kicked away, making a crisp clinking sound.
As soon as he entered, Harry smelled alcohol.
Not the fragrant kind of alcohol, but a diffused, bad wine-like smell.
So far, no one around Harry had been an alcoholic, otherwise, he would know what that smell was like.
Dimo came to the coffee table, kicked away the wine bottles, and sat on the dirty sofa. Then he directly flipped over a food tray with soup, grabbed the wand hidden beneath plates, bones, and newspapers, and directly uncorked the wine.
He took a large gulp directly, and flames immediately shot out from both ears. Only when the flames disappeared did he exhale a large breath, satisfied.
Then he used his wand to scratch his ears, put down the wine bottle, picked up a piece of pizza whose grease had congealed, grown cold and hard, and put it to his mouth: "What do you want? I'll say first, I won't share a drop of wine with you!"
"You used to work at Azkaban?" Harry asked straightforwardly.
"You know?" Dimo sized him up, then leaned back carelessly on the blackened pillow: "Never mind, who doesn't know?"
"Someone in my family committed a crime and is going to Azkaban. I came to you to ask about the situation in Azkaban in detail," Harry said, pulling a chair from nearby and sitting opposite Dimo.
Only this one looked cleaner.
"What? Got an idea?" Dimo sneered at Harry.
"If they're sentenced to Azkaban, your family doesn't seem to have much power," he chuckled: "What else is there to ask about?"
"Heh heh."
Harry leaned slightly forward: "Where there are people, there's business! Azkaban must have it too."
Dimo's expression straightened slightly. He looked Harry up and down.
"What do you want to ask?"
"They said you were disabled? But from what I see, you don't seem to have any problems," Harry changed the subject: "Why did you retire?"
"Is that what you want to ask?" Dimo's expression turned sour.
Harry met his gaze indifferently: "The reason for your retirement might be the biggest risk existing in Azkaban—an uncontrollable risk that even Hit Wizardss have to bear."
"Tch," He shook his head, took another large gulp of Dragon's Blood Rum. This time, flames shot out from his nose. Afterwards, he kept rubbing his nose before saying: "What else could it be, those tattered rags.
There was a fight among prisoners, and I was assigned to deal with it in the inner layer. I had no choice but to go, and then I was attacked by Dementors."
"Inner layer prisoners?" Harry asked.
"Otherwise?" He looked at Harry: "You know a lot."
However, he didn't dwell on this question for too long, and changed the subject: "Actually, the prisoners in the inner layer are death row inmates.
But our law doesn't have the death penalty, and we can't allow them to fight each other to death. We Hit Wizardss have to step in to stop them.
Damn it, what kind of stupid rule is this?
They don't directly arrange for the death penalty, yet they let Dementors torture them, and they want us Hit Wizardss to put ourselves in danger.
Is it because the higher-ups are worried about some so-called public sentiment, are our lives less valuable than those Hit Wizardss' lives?!
Damn it! Damn it!"
His emotions suddenly surged. Harry looked at the wine he had given him, wondering if his action was right or wrong.
"It's because there are too many bleeding hearts in the Ministry of Magic now.
Those bastards, they just want to satisfy their hypocritical and nauseating kindness and add to their political achievements by using favorable policies for death row inmates.
But then they ignore us who work on the front lines.
Do you know? The retirement rate of Hit Wizardss is no better than those damned prisoners.
We are the damn prisoners, chained by some money, like dogs!!"
Saying that, he raised the rum in his left hand and held his wand slightly aimed at Harry with his right: "What do you think of those bleeding hearts?"
"Hypocrites," Harry nodded casually. He wasn't going to provoke the other party at this moment.
"Then what do you think... of this world?" As he spoke, madness appeared in his eyes.
Harry looked around.
Soon, he saw a pile of small bottles on a side cabinet. They weren't dirty, and the thick liquid inside was full.
Now, he knew where this guy's injury was.
But obviously, the other party hadn't taken medicine.
However, this was exactly what he wanted.
"Alright," Harry took a deep breath: "What do you want to do?"
"To be precise, what do *you* want to do?" He smiled: "You're not here for your family. You already know the difference between the inner and outer layers, and you could still find me.
You clearly already have some understanding of Azkaban, but you're not satisfied. Right?"
Saying that, the corners of his mouth turned up: "Come on, ask whatever you want. As long as you promise me that you will never do good deeds."
"Okay."
Harry nodded, raising his hand: "I solemnly swear that I will never do good deeds. If I break this, May Merlin abandon me and turn me into a Muggle."
"Also, give me a few bottles of wine."
"Give him a few more bottles of wine," Harry readily agreed.
"Alright, ask whatever you want!" Dimo leaned back on the dirty sofa again.
"How can I break out of Azkaban!" Harry asked directly and concisely.
"Where is Azkaban, how long does it take for the nearest reinforcements to arrive? What equipment do Hit Wizardss have? What is the approximate flying speed of Dementors, and what formations are set up inside Azkaban!"
"I want all this information!"
Dimo's drinking motion froze.
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