Merpeople Language

Harry stood up and walked to the window.

The sunset had faded, the sky was darkening, and the stars began to appear and disappear in the gray London sky.

He reached out and touched the still-warm glass window.

"Sensing again?" Cassandra walked over.

"Hmm," Harry said, "I seem to be getting more and more sensitive lately. Not just to the earth, but also to the air, temperature,..."

You can even hear sounds from afar.

"That's a good thing," Cassandra said. "The more acute your senses, the sooner you can detect danger."

"It's a burden too," Harry said. "Sometimes being too sensitive makes it hard to distinguish what's important from what's just irrelevant noise."

Cassandra was silent for a moment, then said, "Then practice discerning. Just like reading a book, not every word is important; learn to grasp the key points."

Harry turned to look at her and smiled. "You always get to the point."

"Because I'm smarter than you, you silly little Troll," Cassandra said expressionlessly.

Hearing this long-unheard address, Harry burst out laughing.

The next morning, Grimmauld Place, Number 13 was awakened by a scream.

It's Ruby.

Everyone rushed out of their rooms, wands in hand, nervously looking around.

Kingsley was the first to rush into the Kitchen, then froze.

In the Kitchen, Ruby stood in front of the stove, her face streaked with tears. On the stove sat a plate that finally looked like pudding.

"Ruby! What's wrong?" Hermione rushed in.

Ruby pointed to the plate of pudding, her voice choked with emotion, and said, "Ruby did it— Ruby really did it—"

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, but also felt a bit amused and exasperated.

Ron leaned closer and cautiously examined the plate of pudding.

This time it's definitely different—the surface is a beautiful golden yellow, and it exudes an enticing caramel aroma.

"Can I try some?" he asked.

Ruby nodded vigorously.

Ron picked up his spoon, scooped out a small piece, and put it in his mouth.

Then his expression changed; it wasn't the pain of eating that awful pudding he'd felt before, but rather surprise.

"Delicious!" he exclaimed. "Really delicious!"

Everyone crowded around and took a bite.

The pudding was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, sweet but not cloying; it was truly delicious.

"Ruby, you're amazing!" Anne exclaimed.

Ruby cried even harder, but this time it was tears of joy.

"Grandma's secret recipe— Ruby finally made it—" she said, crying, "Grandma in heaven will be so happy—"

Kingsley gently patted her shoulder. "Your grandmother would be proud of you."

Ruby nodded vigorously.

At breakfast, this successful pudding took center stage.

Ruby sat to the side, watching everyone scramble to eat the pudding, her face beaming with happiness.

"Ruby, you eat too," Harry said.

"Ruby's happy just watching everyone eat!" Ruby said. "Ruby's House Elf, she doesn't need to—"

"You need to," Harry interrupted her, pushing a plate of pudding in front of her. "You made it, you should try it."

Ruby froze, then carefully picked up the spoon, scooped out a small piece, and put it in her mouth.

Her eyes widened.

"Delicious—" she murmured, "Really delicious—"

She cried, then she laughed.

Ruby was in an exceptionally good mood that day, humming a song as she did everything.

Her cheerful singing came from the Kitchen, mingling with the sounds of pots and pans, becoming the most beautiful background music in Grimmauld Place.

In the afternoon, Kingsley brought back news from the Ministry of Magic: the source of the anonymous letter had been found.

"Who is it?" Lupin asked.

Kingsley's expression was somewhat complicated. "It's someone we didn't expect —Barty Crouch Jr. Crouch Jr."

The Living Room fell silent instantly, and everyone looked at each other in bewilderment.

"Barty Crouch Jr. Crouch Jr.?" Ron's eyes widened. "The Death Eater who impersonated Moody? Isn't he dead?"

"He is indeed dead," Kingsley said, "But the magical markings on the letter, after multiple comparisons, have been confirmed as his."

"Could someone be impersonating him?" Hermione asked. "I remember he died from Dementor's Kiss, and it was the former Minister Fudge who personally oversaw the operation, which Professor McGonagall was quite angry about—"

"It could be an imposter," Kingsley said, "But it's also possible he's still alive, or that he left some kind of backup plan to escape the Dementor's Kiss."

Lupin frowned. "If it's him, why would he help us? He's one of Voldemort's most fanatical followers."

"Maybe it's not helping us," Bill suddenly spoke up, "Maybe it's helping himself."

Everyone looked at him.

Bill pondered for a moment and said, "Barty Crouch Jr. Crouch Jr.'s loyalty to Voldemort is beyond question. But he is also extremely sensitive to betrayal—his father sent him to Azkaban, and he hated it his whole life, but what if Voldemort betrayed him too?"

"You mean, what did Voldemort do that made him hold a grudge?" Hermione asked with interest.

"I don't know," Bill said, "But if given the chance to retaliate, he'll definitely do it, given his personality."

Kingsley nodded. "That makes sense. In any case, we still need to treat this information carefully. Hermione, what are the comparison results?"

Hermione pulled out the letter and her notes. "It matches our intelligence 95% accurately. The 5% discrepancy comes from some small details we hadn't known before—like the exact location of a supply depot or the changeover time for a patrol route. If this is a trap, it's incredibly elaborate."

"Then take it as a reference for now," Kingsley said, "But don't rely on it completely."

In the evening, Harry and Cassandra took their usual walk in the courtyard.

The sunset was still beautiful today, but a little paler than yesterday.

"Cass," Harry suddenly asked, "Do you believe in fate?"

Cassandra thought for a moment, "I don't really believe it."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because I've seen too many people use fate as an excuse," she said. "When they fail, they say it's fate; when they give up, they say it's fate; when they make a mistake, they say it's fate. But truly strong people don't talk about fate."

Harry paused for a moment, then said, "Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I hadn't become the Savior."

"Probably just an ordinary legendary wizard," Cassandra said with a smile. "Going to Hogwarts, going on adventures with classmates, and spending after-school activities doing nothing more than suppressing Goblin Rebellion and wiping out the Ashwinder Party —these are all ordinary daily routines. Then, after graduation, I'll find an ordinary job, get married, have children, and live an ordinary life."

"Sounds familiar." Harry rolled his eyes.

"But those days—they're certainly not as good as now," Cassandra said. "Without them."

She pointed to the house behind her; through the window, she could see warm light in the Living Room and vaguely moving figures.

Harry smiled. "True."

The two continued their walk, their shadows overlapping and separating in the setting sun.

Of course, the same applies to the room at night.

On the morning of the tenth, George and Fred came again.

This time, they didn't give any advance notice; they just popped out of the fireplace, carrying large and small bags.

"I've brought you some new stock!" George shouted.

"I guarantee there won't be an explosion this time!" Fred added.

Ron looked at them suspiciously. "You said the same thing last time."

"Last time was last time," George said. "This time it really won't explode—at least not too badly."

Everyone was speechless. The Twins ' skills were almost on par with Goblin products; it was truly astonishing.

It's truly awe-inspiring in every aspect.

George and Fred opened the package, which contained a bunch of strange and wonderful new gadgets.

"This is Portable Bunker." George picked up a small cloth bag. "Once opened, it instantly transforms into a three-meter-high magical barrier that can block most spells."

"This is Scent Tracker." Fred picked up a small, snuff bottle-like device. "Once it sniffs the target's scent once, it can track them within three kilometers."

"This is Phantom Fireworks Upgraded." George picked up a sparkler. "It can create up to ten phantoms, each capable of independent movement, lasting for five minutes."

"And this—" Fred mysteriously pulled out a small box, opened it, and inside was a row of colorful candies.

"What is this?" Ron asked.

"Quick-Acting Language Candy," Fred said smugly. "Eat one, and you can understand and speak any language within ten minutes—including Gobbledegook, Mermish, and even Troll Language."

"We tried it," George added. "I ate the blue one and spoke in Mermish for ten minutes, which scared all the fish in the pond away."

"He was actually talking about the fish. Hello, the weather is nice today," Fred said expressionlessly. "I don't know why the fish were scared away."

"Isn't this the Translation Konjac Chip from Doraemon?" Hermione leaned closer with interest. "Oh my god, I mean—you guys really succeeded?"

"What is Doraemon?" the Twins asked curiously.

"I'll send you a set of comic books in a few days," Hermione said.

Ron picked up a candy and examined it closely. "This thing—does it really work?"

"Of course!" George said, "Why don't you try?"

Ron hesitated for a moment, but still didn't dare to eat it.

Kingsley walked over, picked up a candy, and smelled it. "How did you do that?"

"This is something we developed together with Luna," Fred said. "She provided some theories about language magic, and we were responsible for implementing them."

"Luna?" Harry's eyes lit up. "Is she alright?"

"That's great," George said. "They're currently researching some kind of singing fish, which is said to be able to sing in twelve languages."

Everyone laughed; this was definitely Luna's style.

In the afternoon, George and Fred demonstrated their new product. The Portable Bunker was indeed effective—once opened, a three-meter-high translucent barrier rose from the ground, easily blocking Kingsley's Stunning Spell. The Scent Tracker was also very accurate—if Dyg hid something in the yard, Tonks sniffed it and found it in less than two minutes.

The Phantom Fireworks Upgraded has the most stunning effect – once lit, ten phantoms identical to Ron appear simultaneously, running around the yard, making it impossible to tell which one is real.

"That's amazing!" Ron shouted excitedly, then noticed that the ten phantoms were also shouting.

Finally, they tested the Quick-Acting Language Candy. Ron mustered his courage and ate a blue one, and then;

"Wr wg ml, ga gaga" he said, "Ml Ir wr la wgrmlrwa!"

Everyone was stunned.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked.

Fred suppressed a laugh, "He spoke in Merpeople Language, which means 'I love you, beautiful girl, you are my little fruit.'"

Ron's expression was complicated; he wanted to speak but couldn't, so he could only gesture with his hands.

Hermione laughed so hard she couldn't stand up straight, Tonks ' hair turned a cheerful bright yellow.

Five minutes later, the effects of the drug wore off, and Ron was finally able to speak normally again.

He let out a long sigh, "That was terrifying, I really felt like I was a fish just now."

"Then you should try what it feels like to become a fish," George said.

"No, thank you," Ron firmly refused.

In the evening, George and Fred stayed for dinner.

George and Fred ate and commented on the food, praising Ruby the point of elation.

"Ruby, your cooking is simply art!"

"Exactly! You should open a restaurant! We'll be the first to patronize it!"

Ruby's face turned as red as a tomato, and she almost spilled the soup.

After dinner, George and Fred said their goodbyes.

Before leaving, Fred leaned close to Ron's ear and whispered, "Ronnie little darling, live well. Hermione will cry if you die."

Ron glared at them both angrily. "I will."

"That's good." Fred patted him on the shoulder, and together with George, they disappeared into the green flames of the fireplace.

On the morning of the eleventh, Ron got up very early.

He tiptoed downstairs, intending to sneak into the Kitchen for something to eat, only to find the Living Room already empty— Kingsley was sitting in front of the fireplace, a cup of tea in his hand, gazing at the morning light outside.

"Kingsley? Why are you up so early?" Ron asked in surprise.

Kingsley turned his head and smiled slightly, "I'm used to it. Back in Africa, we patrolled at this time too."

Ron went over and sat down next to him, and the two watched the fire in the fireplace in silence.

"Are you nervous?" Kingsley suddenly asked.

Ron paused for a moment, then nodded honestly. "Qi Dian."

"That's normal," Kingsley said. "It would be strange not to be nervous facing such a powerful enemy."

"And you?" Ron asked, "Are you nervous?"

Kingsley paused for a moment, then said, "I'm not nervous. But I'm worried."

What are you worried about?

"I'm worried that Qi might not be able to keep a close watch on things," Kingsley said. "I worry every time we go on a mission. Even the simplest mission can go wrong. Especially this time—"

He didn't say it, but Ron understood.

"Harry will talk back to Yan," Ron said. "He promised."

Kingsley looked at him, his gaze softening. "You trust him that much?"

"Of course," Ron said. "From childhood to adulthood, he has never failed to keep a single promise he made to me."

Kingsley nodded, then said nothing more.

The two sat quietly, watching the fire in the fireplace, until sunlight streamed in through the window.

Ron was unusually quiet at breakfast.

Hermione glanced at him several times, but ultimately didn't ask anything.