No Need to Thank Me

The sun had not yet risen, but glimmers of light were already appearing on the distant horizon, and the deep blue sky was gradually fading.

The path leading from the stone house to the swampy clearing was damp and narrow, with hastily hung lanterns Qidian orange-yellow glows. We encountered few pedestrians along the way, but suddenly the number of people increased when we reached the place where the Portkey were stored.

Molly led the children to join the group, and Arthur, after thinking for a moment, went to the side to help Basil maintain order.

What happened last night?

"The matter hasn't been clarified yet. The ministry will issue an announcement once the investigation is complete."

"That python is the Basilisk, right?"

"I don't know either."

"Who conjured that mark?"

"It's not certain yet."

"Arthur... could he be... that person?"

Arthur waved his hand. "Of course it's not him. We don't know who it is either. It looks like he's already Apparition... Please line up to get your Portkey. I just want to go home and get a good night's sleep, just like you."

Hearing the conversation nearby, Loren looked at Percy, who was standing obediently behind Molly, and asked curiously, "Percy, why aren't you maintaining order?"

Hearing this, Hermione and the others around looked over curiously, as Percy used to be very enthusiastic about this kind of thing.

Percy paused for a moment, then slowly said, "I've been thinking about what happened last night..."

"He bumped his nose last night, caught a cold from the wind, and now his whole body aches," Molly bluntly pointed out, but couldn't help feeling sorry for her most obedient son. "When we get home, I'll dig out the cold medicine and brew you a pot."

George and Fred immediately looked at Percy with pity. The medicine at home was dried by their mother herself. They didn't know if it would cure the illness, but it must taste terrible.

Percy knew this too, and gave his elderly mother a resentful look. "I was indeed thinking about what happened last night... There were security issues at the Quidditch World Cup, and the department might offer some compensation."

The Weasley family children's eyes lit up, Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "There are 100,000 wizards in the camp, and tens of thousands of tents. Can you afford to pay for the magic?"

"The department recently raised a large sum of money, and..." Percy paused, "The property damage from the fire may not be compensated, but Mother, you were attacked, and if Mr. Crouch doesn't object, compensation should be no problem."

Molly's expression softened a bit, and she hummed twice. "This won't change my opinion of Crouch."

Finally, they managed to get an old tire before sunrise, which they used to return to Stoat Hill. In the dim light of dawn, they walked through the Ottery St Catchpole, along the wet huts toward the Burrow.

Everyone spoke very little on the way home, only thinking about getting home quickly and having breakfast.

In the early morning, London is already awakened by the cacophony of car horns, and the streets are filled with the aroma of coffee and breakfast sandwiches.

"Tao Tao Department Store".

Dumbledore interest, and in his mind, he rearranged it into "Dad's foot was injured by a snake" using a spelling game. This secret little thought contained an unknown sense of fun.

"I should write this into my travelogue after I retire..." Dumbledore thought to himself.

Suddenly, he squinted and looked closely at the sign... Although the name was still the same as before, the style was much older. It must be because St Mungo's Hospital had recently received another donation from the Malfoy family, so they had enough funds to replace the sign.

Well... they had enough funds, so they changed to an even more dilapidated signboard.

Dumbledore nodded at the ugly doll in the shop window and smiled, "Good morning. I'm here to visit the patient who was brought in last night."

A silent surge of Magic Power enveloped the glass window, Dumbledore stepped through it, entering the crowded waiting room of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

"Dumbledore, you've finally arrived!"

A middle-aged male wizard immediately came forward. His brown hair and thick eyebrows were streaked with gray, and behind his gold-rimmed glasses were a pair of sharp eyes.

He had a slight limp, but he walked with a confident stride that immediately gave the impression that he was a sharp and tough guy.

Dumbledore a smile, "Sorry, Rufus, there's a lot going on at Hogwarts with the start of the school year approaching."

Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of Auror Office, has spent most of his time fighting dark wizards since joining the Ministry of Magic. Only a handful of people in the entire Ministry of Magic believed Dumbledore's warning of the Dark Lord's return, and Rufus was one of them.

He's a guy who hates evil and acts decisively... although he always disagrees with Dumbledore.

Rufus greeted them and went up the stairs on his own. Next to the crossed bones and wands of St Mungo's on the wall, there was a sign that read "Second Floor - Department of Magical Creatures".

Dumbledore followed him upstairs, nodding and smiling as he greeted the Magical portrait of Dilys de Winter.

As they ascended the steps, Dumbledore asked softly, "Is there anything I can tell you right now, Rufus?"

"I don't think you know less than I do..." Rufus said with a frown, but continued explaining, "There was a riot at the Quidditch World Cup last night, a group of Veela and wizards launched an attack..."

"..."

As Rufus recounted the events of the previous night, Dumbledore's expression became somewhat strange, especially when he heard that a Basilisk with grayish-white scales had petrified a hundred Veela and three or four hundred wizards who were participating in the procession; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

"The petrified people have all been moved to the Department of Magical Creatures on the Second Floor. Healer Hibbkrat Smesik has repeatedly confirmed that it is indeed the Basilisk's influence." Rufus paused. "There's something very strange about this: no one has suffered any fatal injuries."

Dumbledore's lips curled into a smile, "Perhaps, this is a benevolent Basilisk."

"..."

Seeing the smile on the old wizard's face, Rufus paused for a moment. "We have contacted the American Magical Congress and confirmed Basilisk this Basilisk is the same one that appeared in New York. From New York to Devon, there must be a mysterious wizard behind the Basilisk. We will summon Newt Scamander later. Many people in the department suspect that the Basilisk is under his command."

Dumbledore:...

He had a feeling that Newt might have to take the blame for more than just this one thing in the future.

There weren't many steps, and the two quickly arrived at the closed ward on the Second Floor. Hundreds of beds were neatly arranged, and even though Rufus had witnessed the execution of the Untraceable Extension Charm, he was still somewhat shocked.

"If it's just petrification, the treatment is simple, but procuring Mandrake might be a bit troublesome." Dumbledore looked at the person lying on the sickbed. "So, what's your purpose in calling me here?"

"I want you to examine these Veela. They bear the marks of the Imperius Curse, but the Basilisk's Magic Power is interfering with our investigation."

"Is that all?" Dumbledore stopped and turned around, his deep blue eyes unfathomable. "I thought you were more concerned about the Dark Mark, Rufus."

At the Burrow's dining table, the crisp sounds of knives, forks, and bowls clattered incessantly, while the steaming breakfast filled the air with a delightful aroma.

Arthur took a sip of strong tea and quickly glanced at the first page of the Daily Prophet he had just received. Percy looked over his shoulder, his expression growing increasingly grim.

"The Ministry of Magic is in a panic... the criminals are still at large... law and order are lax... the Basilisk saves the Ministry of Magic... bringing shame to the nation..." Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. "Who wrote this? Ah... it really was her, Rita Skeeter."

"That woman is deliberately going against the Ministry of Magic!" Percy exclaimed indignantly. "Last week she was saying we should focus all our efforts on dealing with Vampire and Werewolf, but we've wasted so much time on the thickness of the cauldron! Honestly, she seems unaware that the International Wizarding Congress has revised the ' Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Human Half-Wizards '..."

Harry quickly swallowed the bacon in his mouth. "Isn't Rita Skeeter in cahoots with the Ministry of Magic? She used to write so many articles praising Fudge and slandering Dumbledore..."

"She's not with the Ministry of Ministry of Magic, she's with Dolores Umbridge ..." Percy muttered.

"Oh my god! I'm in the paper!" Arthur turned the page and continued reading with wide eyes, "First-hand reports: as wizards lined up to evacuate in the early morning, a Ministry of Magic official claimed that no one was harmed, but refused to provide further details. Whether his words are enough to quell the rumors of bodies being carried out of the woods remains to be seen..."

"Her writing makes it sound like I'm lying. No one was hurt, so what else can I say?" Arthur handed the newspaper to Percy, somewhat annoyed. "The bodies were carried out of the woods; she's clearly spreading rumors and panic!"

Molly said somewhat irritably, "If you don't say anything, that old woman Rita will say that the people from the Ministry of Magic are unbecoming of themselves by remaining silent."

Bill shrugged. "That's just how Rita Skeeter is. She never writes anything good about anyone. She once interviewed all the Gringotts Curse-Breaker, and then called me 'Hairy Ghost'!"

"No, I have to go back to my office. This matter needs to be clarified."

Arthur went to change his clothes, rambling on and on, and Percy followed him. In the end, the two disappeared into the fireplace flames one after the other.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, and the sky, which had been dormant for so long, finally shone brightly. Golden sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the room and my heart.

Young people can't keep their worries to themselves. They get incredibly sleepy on the road, but wake up refreshed after breakfast.

Ron and his brothers whispered for a moment, then excitedly looked up. "Harry, how about we have a Quidditch Match in the orchard, three against three, with Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George all joining in... You can try out the Lansky feint..."

"I don't want to play Quidditch right now. I think we all need to go to bed..." Harry shook his head, his mind a mess. The Dark Mark from last night reminded him of that dream he had not long ago.

Ron was a little disappointed and turned to his sister, "Ginny, are you going to participate?"

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Just as the Weasley were about to leave, Harry stood up. "Wait a minute, I need to grab my Firebolt."

Watching them become lively and excited as they headed out, Molly gradually relaxed, shaking her head with a smile, "These kids!"

Hermione was focused on the newspaper on the table, oblivious to the milk foam on her lips, and continued to bite into her bread.

Loren tore off a slice of bread, wiped the milk foam from her lips, and then casually stuffed it into the girl's mouth.

Hermione opened her mouth to accept the food, chewed and swallowed unconsciously, and only realized something was wrong after completing the series of actions. She turned her head and stared blankly at him.

Loren waved his hand. "You're welcome."

For the next week, Arthur and Percy were rarely home, leaving for work before dawn and not returning until late at night. Molly would sigh as she watched the dinners, which had been reheated several times and become wilted.

The start of the school year drew ever closer amidst these sighs.

At the end of August, the howling wind rattled the windows of the Burrow, and the old hinges creaked and groaned.

Charlie was mending a fireproof hood, while Harry and Ron were intently maintaining Firebolt, their expressions sickeningly gentle.

Loren grabbed Crookshanks's two front paws and manipulated it to attack Hermione's legs repeatedly, muttering strange things like "Niffler- like Godzilla" and "Flerken".

Hermione held "Standard Spellbook - Level 4" in her hands, her face expressionless, finding him utterly boring.

This is a fourth-grade textbook; she borrowed George and Fred's to take a look first.

There's no point in ignoring someone you've provoked, so Loren simply abandoned Crookshanks and personally massaged Hermione's legs. "Fourth-year spells aren't difficult; didn't you already look them up before?"

"Your fourth-grade exam results will affect your chances of getting into the Advanced Class in fifth grade." Hermione gave him a serious look. "I'll be supervising your studies after school starts!"

"Oh, Professor Granger."

"..."

With a snap.

The One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi," which was stuck with magic transparent tape, suddenly came apart. Ginny looked at the few booklets on the carpet, sighed, and started pasting and repairing them again.

As Ginny pieced the booklets together in order, she looked up at her mother, who was holding the list of items. Her mother had been staring blankly for a quarter of an hour.

"Mom..." Ginny nudged Molly, "Could you hand me the tape?"

"Ah, oh, okay..." Molly picked up the tape and handed it over, then picked up the list again and stared blankly.

"Formal robes..."

Molly read out the last item on the list of essential items for fourth-grade students and couldn't help but feel a little worried.

Many of the things they brought from the Quidditch camp tent were burned to ashes, and they also had to compensate Perkins for the tent. Their family was in dire straits and couldn't afford to buy Ron a robe.

He definitely wouldn't accept an ugly secondhand suit, so Molly planned to buy one behind his back tomorrow and just give it to him when school started...

Molly glanced at the Twins in the corner. Fred and George were sitting there, holding quills, their heads pressed against a piece of parchment, talking in hushed tones, occasionally letting out soft chuckles.

Molly glanced at Ron, who was wiping his Firebolt, and pursed her lips. She decided to talk to Ron; perhaps they could go to a secondhand robe shop and buy a nicer robe.