The Clever Giant Gale

"Let me speak..."

As if he had made up his mind, Gale braced himself on the ground with his hands and dragged his broken leg a few steps forward. His expression was very strange. He tried to appear relaxed, but perhaps he had used too much strength to grimace just now, and the muscles and skin on his face were too heavy for him to do.

Gale forced a smile, his deep voice echoing in the cave. "It all started the year I emerged from my mother's womb..."

"For a female giant, the most important thing in her life is to give birth to a tall, strong child, which means he will grow into an excellent warrior, capable of hunting, fighting, digging caves, and defending against enemies. If the giant is thin and short, he is a waste of food and breast milk; he is weak and incompetent, unable to defeat the wild beasts of the Mountainous Area, unable to obtain enough food to survive, and can only rely on the charity of others..."

So the first thing the female giant did after giving birth was to check the baby's physique; if he wasn't strong enough, it was best to drop him to his death immediately. A newborn baby was more delicious than a three-month-old lamb..."

He muttered to himself, his tongue unconsciously licking the remaining Skele-Gro between his teeth, the bitter taste spreading on the tip of his tongue, leaving a lingering aftertaste.

On the other side of the Cave, Loren and Hermione felt a chill run down their spines as they looked up at the one-legged giant sitting cross-legged on the ground. Only then did they notice that Gale's size was similar to that of his sister Mill, but compared to the other male giants in the tribe, Gale appeared exceptionally short and thin.

"You might wonder why I, with my size, didn't die from the fall?" Gale looked down at his arm, his eyes catching sight of the broken leg lying helplessly on the ground.

His slender arms had no excess muscles, his sickly pale skin was loose and inelastic, and his bluish veins lay dormant under his skin, completely different from the bulging veins of other giants. Sometimes he even felt that if he were to fight Mill, he would be the one being overwhelmed.

Fortunately, he has been well taken care of over the years.

"Actually, it wasn't just me who was thin and weak, but also Mill, who was a woman. Our father wanted to kill us, but we were lucky to have good times, and also because we had a good mother..."

Before the Giant tribe was driven to the High Mountain, most of the giants were slaves of the Dark Lord. A slave's life belonged to their master; even their parents couldn't be disposed of without their consent. I survived thanks to the Dark Lord's protection. Back then, our food was provided by the Dark Lord, and I was given enough bran to survive..."

Although his lazy, greedy, and foolish father always took most of the food, the remaining food was barely enough to sustain him.

His most vivid memory of his childhood was hunger, a constant torment. Secondly, there was pain; insufficient food meant insufficient strength, which, within the giant race, made him more vulnerable to bullying.

Gale lowered her right hand, placing her palm on the broken leg. With a slight pressure, a dull, lingering pain traveled from the fractured bone along the nerves into her head, making some distant memories clearer:

"A peaceful and happy life does not last long. Giant slaves are not suitable for housework or for taking care of wizards. They play a role elsewhere. Besides carrying heavy objects, they can also serve as cannon fodder. Whenever there is a conflict or battle, my parents need to be at the forefront of the battlefield with other giants, using their thick skin to resist the Accio flames, shapeless blades, or green light that kills with a single touch."

"And we, who are not yet adults, or rather, not big enough to be qualified meat shields, just stand on the high ground far behind and watch..."

"Cruel Death Eater ..." Hermione said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

Loren observed the giant Gale without blinking. He had initially thought that the reason the three giant siblings were different might be due to their family background, or perhaps their parents were wise and thus provided excellent education. But now it seemed that it was more due to the influence of this frail giant Gale.

He was nothing like a giant; his language was fluent, his logic clear, and his statements distinct.

He is very smart.

"In short, through observing their suicidal charges time and time again, I gradually discovered one thing: that is, if you run a little slower, you can survive the war. Later, I told my parents about this discovery..." Gale's voice softened, and the others had to concentrate to hear what he was saying. "They couldn't wait to try my discovery, and then... my father, who hated me, died."

"Dead?"

Gale nodded slightly. "Later I learned that the scale on the battlefield needs to be carefully controlled. People ahead kept falling due to the curse, so you couldn't let yourself run too fast and expose yourself to the curse's attack. There were Death Eater supervising from behind, so you couldn't let yourself fall behind, or you would be executed as a cowardly traitor. So you always had to run a little slower than the other Titans, and always a little faster than the other group of Titans... My father was greedy and foolish. He stopped on the battlefield and was executed on the spot by that Death Eater shrouded in a hood..."

Only one female giant remained, raising her three underage siblings alone. However, due to the turbulent times of that era, the family of four lived relatively comfortably. The Death Eater provided them with ample food, the three siblings didn't have to go to the battlefield, and their mother was able to survive thanks to Gale's wisdom. They lived smoothly until the Dark Lord fell and the Giant tribe was driven out and migrated...

Gale's voice suddenly became hoarse as she spoke, "Because I was weak, I didn't like the games that the giant children liked to play. I preferred to listen to the wizards who looked after us talk, and little by little, I learned your language..."

"It also taught me..." Mill continued, "My mother survived the brutal war, but not the exhaustion of the long migration. After settling in the cold, barren Mountainous Area, she suddenly fell ill and soon died. After that, my two siblings and I barely survived thanks to my eldest brother's strong body and my second brother's wisdom, until a week ago, when outsiders shattered our peaceful life here. We almost saw death lurking at the cave entrance..."

"Oh?"

Loren looked up at her calmly and asked slowly, "Do you hate us? We are Dumbledore's students. More than a decade ago, he thwarted the Dark Lord, ruined your wonderful lives, and forced you to migrate a long way. More than a decade later, he also sent Hagrid here, causing you to be injured and on the verge of death..."

"What are you saying!" Hermione whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

"Life as slaves under the Dark Lord was not pleasant. We could be dragged to the battlefield at any time to be used as human shields to die. It wasn't Dumbledore who caused our long migration; it was he who protested to the Ministry of Magic, giving us a chance to live. And it wasn't Hagrid who dragged us down with him..."

Mill stared at Loren, whose eyes were many times larger than his own, and were now filled with sincere gratitude. "In the end, it was you who saved us from despair."

"You are very clever, even more so than many wizards."

Loren glanced at her slightly swollen and awkwardly moving shoulder, and released a milky white healing spell from the tip of his staff. "It's much easier to work with smart people, so I'm planning to make a deal with you."

"Trade?"

"..."

12 Grimmauld Place, Black family manor.

The deep cleaning of the dilapidated house is still ongoing. Fortunately, most of the rooms have been cleaned, with only some old Black family items remaining to be disposed of.

Sirius Black, along with a few young wizards who remained behind, listlessly rummaged through the pile of old things. Valuable antiques were set aside, and usable alchemical items were inventoried and labeled. The remaining items, which symbolized the glory of the Black family, were not easy to resell, Sirius Black decided to treat them as scrap.

"This is a posthumous work by a painter with a very long name from the Middle Ages. It's said to be worth some money. Let's leave it to Mundungus to sell as operating funds for the Order of the Order of the Phoenix..." Sirius Black casually tossed the painting into a box next to him.

"!"

George and Fred glanced at the painting instinctively, their eyes lighting up. They couldn't help but wonder if opening their shop could be considered part of the Order of the Order of the Phoenix's operation, and if this painting could serve as their seed money...

"Huh? This is Two-way mirror, Harry, come here quickly!"

Harry, his cheeks stained with dust like a cat's, walked over and looked at the quaint little mirror, asking in confusion, "What's the use of Two-way mirror?"

"Here's a mirror for you. The other end of it connects to the mirrors in this house, just like Muggle's telephone. No matter where you are, as long as you wipe the mirror and call my name to it, I can talk to you."

"That's amazing!?"

Ron, who was standing nearby, immediately came over and insisted that he demonstrate it. They chattered and made a ruckus for a while until Molly's yell came up from the underground Kitchen, at which point they resumed their work.

Sirius Black looked at the pile of clutter in front of him, noticed the tapestry at the bottom, paused, and fell silent.

"This is..."

Harry and Ron worked together to pull the tapestry out from underneath. Looking at the old but still magnificent tapestry, they didn't know which box to put it in.

The tapestry looked very old, its colors faded, and it appeared that Doxy had chewed several parts of it. However, the gold thread embroidered on it still Winky brightly, and they could clearly see a sprawling family tree that could be traced back to the Middle Ages.

Two lines of large characters were embroidered on the top of the tapestry:

[The oldest and noble Black family]

[Forever Pure]

Ron glanced at the bottom line of the family tree and noticed a strange discrepancy. "Sirius Black isn't on it!"

Harry had vaguely heard his godfather mention this story, but he didn't know the specifics. He hesitated for a moment and looked at Sirius Black.

"It used to be up there." Sirius Black, with an indifferent expression, seemed unconcerned about the matter, and pointed to a small, charred hole in the tapestry, like a cigarette burn mark. "After I ran away from home, my dear old mother destroyed me. Kreacher loved to whisper this story."

"Run away from home?" George and Fred understood immediately.

"I was about sixteen years old that year, and I had had enough of the house and the people in it."

Where did you go?

"At the James family, Harry's grandparents were very understanding; they practically treated me like a second son. Just like how Harry always wanted to stay at the Burrow during the summer holidays, and no one required me to stay there for a month every year, my Uncle Alphard was even very supportive... When school was out, I would temporarily stay at the Potter family until I was seventeen, when my Uncle Alphard passed away, leaving me a considerable amount of gold. After graduating, I lived on my own and took care of myself... Fortunately, Mr. Potter always welcomed me to their house for dinner every Saturday."

Sirius Black smiled and smoothed his messy hair with his hand, but those present could tell he wasn't happy, "Believe me, I've persisted for 17 years, which is already quite remarkable."

He stretched out his finger and traced the names at the bottom of the family tree one by one. "My parents were madly obsessed with Pure-blood. They believed that being a member of the Black family meant being born noble... My foolish brother, Regulus, was too weak-willed to believe them..."

In the doorway where no one noticed, an elderly House-elf appeared out of nowhere, standing there, listening to his story with tears streaming down his face.

"He is younger than me, and people keep reminding me that his son is much better than me. In fact, it is true. He joined the Slug Club shortly after starting school, and he got better grades than me in every subject. Even I know that he will be successful in the future and will make the Black name shine brightly."

Sirius Black paused, a bitter smile on his face. He had been able to escape the Black family with a clear conscience because he knew that Regulus would carry the Black family's expectations. "But that stupid idiot of his, he joined the Death Eater and died an unjust death."

"What does that mean?"

"He died before Voldemort's downfall, the cause of death is unknown, and he didn't die in the battle with the Aurors. He wasn't important enough for Voldemort to personally intervene, so I suspect the Death Eater killed him. He probably became terrified of those persecutions and wanted to quit..." Sirius Black chuckled. "For the Dark Lord, it's either lifelong service or certain death. This foolish idiot doesn't understand that—"

"Don't slander him!"

A hoarse, mournful cry rang out, Kreacher rushed over, snatching the tapestry from their hands. His ugly face was streaked with snot and tears. "Young Master Regulus is not an idiot! He defeated the Dark Lord!"