20demayo Chapter 161 Blake Begs to Kill His Mother
Chapter 161 Blake Begs to Kill His Mother
Chapter 162 Blake Begs to Kill His Mother
Picking up where we left off, the Daily Prophet had a catchy title and detailed the story of Black and Peter Pettigrew, even including a photograph of Peter being split in two.
Although it was covered in mosaics and blurred like paste, it still made all the wizards crane their necks and stare, wishing they could see it clearly.
Harry also obtained a copy for a closer look, and found that the pages were full of descriptions of how Fudge was cowardly and how his own family was tyrannical.
After a cursory glance, the scarred man was instantly enraged, his anger barely contained. Then he looked at the reporter's name—wasn't that Rita Skeeter?
With a loud "bang," Harry slammed his fist on the long table, causing pots and pans to bounce around.
"Damn it! What kind of nonsense is this gossipy woman spouting that she even gets her articles published in this newspaper?"
Hermione, with Crookshanks in her arms, craned her neck to read the article clearly. Her eyebrows shot up, and she exclaimed indignantly, "This is a complete smear campaign against Harry!"
Ron nodded vigorously in agreement, "Exactly! Harry didn't rip Peter Pettigrew's heart and liver out to cook, so how was that cruel?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Did Harry mean that?
She was about to explain when Harry suddenly clapped his hands and shouted, "Excellent! You truly understand me, brother!"
Hermione's pretty face froze instantly. Is that really what she meant?
So... now it's me who can't keep up with Harry's train of thought?
No, no, it's because Ron was too influenced by Harry!
While she was having a mental struggle, Crookshank suddenly leaped into Harry's arms like a yellow cloud.
The cat meowed incessantly, then suddenly raised its two hind legs and stood upright like a human, its two front paws together, bowing repeatedly to Harry.
But its body swayed and its tail swayed, as if it understood human intentions.
Seeing this, Harry tossed the newspaper aside and laughed, "It was I who was confused; the reward I promised you hasn't been fulfilled yet."
"How about I buy fifty fresh fish from you?"
Krokshan just spun around in his arms, making gurgling noises, clearly not satisfied.
Harry pondered for a moment, then said, "So, would you be satisfied with buying me a hundred cans of top-quality cat food?"
The cat continued to circle and whine as before, refusing to give up.
Everyone was puzzled and wondering what it meant, when suddenly it darted into Harry's robes, and after a while, it pulled out a heavy money bag, which jingled and probably contained a hundred or so Galleons.
Seeing this, Ron asked in surprise, "What would a cat need money for? It can't buy anything."
"Brother, don't underestimate it."
Harry tied the purse tightly and stuffed it back into the cat's mouth. "This cat is quite intelligent. Who knows, it might even be able to speak human language someday."
Before he finished speaking, Crookshan had already clutched the money bag tightly, transformed into a yellow cloud, and darted away in a flash, disappearing without a trace.
Time flies, and three or four days passed before Christmas Eve arrived.
On this day, the Daily Prophet published a shocking secret: Sirius Black, who had been wrongfully imprisoned for thirteen years, was finally released and seen the light of day again.
The newspaper articles were like a barrage of swords and spears, vehemently criticizing former minister Millison Barnold, accusing him of being incompetent, foolish, and guilty of creating a wrongful conviction.
Instead, they praised Connery Fudge to the skies, calling him a once-in-a-century upright judge who could see through everything and even bring up old cases to clear his name.
Anyone with a discerning eye would secretly chuckle and realize that the Ministry of Magic must have spent money to buy a newspaper article.
Meanwhile, in the Ministry of Magic, Black was wearing human clothes for the first time in thirteen years, and he felt extremely uncomfortable, fidgeting and adjusting his suit.
Scrimgeour returned the wand to him and patted him on the shoulder, saying, "Congratulations on regaining your freedom, Mr. Black. And thank you for your cooperation during this time."
"Oh, I should be the one thanking you."
Blake hastily buttoned up his shirt and clicked his tongue, saying, "Before seeing the other prisoners, I was thinking how good the treatment of criminals is these days."
What kind of life have I been living in the Ministry of Magic these past few days?
He was served fresh steak and red wine every day, and every Auror who came to interrogate him was kind and friendly—he even had a single cell with a shower!
And it can even release hot water!
If he hadn't seen how the other prisoners were treated, he would have really wanted to praise the Ministry of Magic.
Scrimgeour shook his head and chuckled, "To be honest, Mr. Black, I envy you for having a godson like Harry."
Upon hearing this, Blake quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching before leaning close to Scrinker's ear and whispering:
"Dude, are you sure you haven't been cursed with a soul-stealing curse?"
Scrimgeour's eyes twitched suddenly, and he waved his hand, urging, "You'd better hurry up and leave, Mr. Black. I'm going home for Christmas."
After saying this, he turned and stepped into the fireplace, but a flash of green fire appeared and the figure vanished.
Black shook his head and clicked his tongue, then strolled out of the Ministry of Magic's gates. He found the long street deserted, with only a figure standing in the moonlight, sword drawn – Harry had been waiting there.
"Harry!" Black exclaimed, both surprised and delighted, rushing to greet him. "What brings you here?"
Harry clasped his hands in a salute and said with a smile, "The newspaper published the news of my godfather's release from prison today, so I came here to welcome him back."
"I never expected the Ministry of Magic to be so efficient, solving the case in just four or five days. Although it's mostly filled with scoundrels, it does have its merits."
Black scoffed at this. "Harry, as your godfather, I have the first piece of advice for you—don't trust the Ministry of Magic."
"If I hadn't given up the compensation I received over thirteen years, I would have had to wait at least another two months before I could get out."
"Of course, you can still rely on them for minor issues."
Upon hearing this, Harry stamped his foot and exclaimed, "Oh dear! How could Godfather give in so easily? Those thirteen years in prison were a complete waste of his suffering, while those vile scoundrels benefited instead!"
Blake didn't seem to care and waved his hand dismissively, "It's nothing, the Blake family isn't short of money."
"Actually, the reason I rushed out was because I wanted to take you somewhere."
He stretched out his arm and laughed, "Has anyone taught you how to use Apparition?"
Harry gripped it tightly, "It's second nature to me."
The two figures flickered and vanished instantly. When the wind subsided, they reappeared standing in front of Gate 12 of Place Grimmauld.
Looking up, what a magnificent and imposing mansion!
But behold: the walls, four or five stories high, though mottled, still retain their grandeur; vines, several feet long, entwine, though desolate, do not diminish their magnificence. The stone-carved arched ceiling, covered in dust, faintly hints at its former grandeur; the iron railings and flower-patterned windows, stained with grime, seem to recall their former magnificence.
"This is the old residence of the Blake family."
Blake's face tightened, he wrung his hands and stamped his feet, and after a long silence he finally stammered, "I asked the Aurors in prison, and it seems your aunt and uncle aren't treating you very well."
"Hmm... if you'd like... I think you can make this your home."
Black spoke haltingly, but Harry couldn't bear to hear such words from his dearest friend. He burst into tears and immediately bowed down in reverence.
"Since my godfather is willing to take me in, even a humble dwelling, let alone a grand mansion, would be better than heaven for me! As the old saying goes, 'A golden house or a silver house is not as warm as a doghouse!'"
When Black saw Harry kneeling again, he hurriedly stepped forward and supported his arm.
"Please don't kneel again, Harry, I really can't bear that."
After saying that, he went straight ahead.
There was a large silver-scaled snake coiled around the two black lacquered doors as a door knocker, but there were no keyholes anywhere.
Black simply tapped his wand lightly on the snake's head, like a key locking a lock, and with a "click," the door swung open.
The two stepped into the corridor, and there they were:
Spiderwebs hang from the beams like a curtain, and dust covers the ground like frost.
The peeling, mottled wall paint and the moldy, rotting image resemble a sleepy face.
Black suddenly grabbed Harry's sleeve, covered his mouth with his finger, and whispered, "Keep your voice down, don't wake my mom."
"This crazy woman will drive us both insane."
Upon hearing that the Madam was there, Harry hurriedly straightened his clothes, clasped his hands, and said, "Since this is the Madam's residence, I should pay my respects."
Blake was so frightened that his face contorted, and he waved his hands repeatedly as if he had been stung by a scorpion.
"Don't say such scary things. I've had enough nightmares in Azkaban."
Harry was still suspicious of his godfather's behavior when he suddenly heard a rustling sound at the top of the stairs, and a house-elf suddenly darted out.
The house-elf darted under the lamp, and when Harry looked closely, he saw a truly strange-looking creature!
But look: a filthy cloth barely covers his body, his skin is wrinkled and layered; his bald head is shiny like a ball, his ears are covered with bat hair; his red eyes are covered with gray smudges, his garlic nose is swollen like a pig's; he is old and frail, his appearance is decaying.
The house-elf recognized Black and immediately beat his chest and stomped his feet, howling like a broken gong.
"Ugh! That wretched, ungrateful scoundrel, the young master who broke his mother's heart is back!"
"And he's even bringing Harry Potter with him!"
Before the sound had faded, a huge, moldy curtain on the corridor wall suddenly unfurled, revealing a portrait of an old woman.
The old woman in the painting had bristling hair and beard, her eyes wide with rage, and she cursed:
"Get out of my father's house, you little bastard!"
"I don't have a son like you! You don't deserve to come back!"
"You little traitor, not even worth a speck of Regulus's eye boogers..."
The curses sounded like the cawing of crows and the howling of ghosts, piercing straight to the marrow of their brains. Harry and Black quickly raised their hands to cover their ears, still feeling a buzzing in their heads.
"Now! You've seen! My! Mom!"
Black called out to Harry, "If you don't want to go deaf, we'd better get to the second floor right now!"
Harry felt a throbbing vein on his forehead and exclaimed, "Damn it! That old lady's wailing is truly awful!"
"Even if ten of my second uncles all roared at the sky on a full moon night, they would still lose three points to her penetrating power!"
As Blake scurried away, covering his ears, he yelled, "Because she's a madwoman! I've prayed countless times that someone would get rid of her! But she cast a permanent stain spell on the wall while she was alive!"
Upon hearing this, Harry raised his voice and replied, "Father, don't panic! If you want to get this portrait, I have a plan!"
"Then hurry up and do it!" Black roared, looking up to the sky. "I'm begging you, Harry! Just kill my mother!"
(End of this chapter)