Harry was very satisfied with the room. After all, he had lived in a closet before, and there were not many living conditions worse than a closet full of spiders.
Feeling at ease, he threw himself onto the soft bed. Although the bed creaked loudly, it was at least ten times better than the Dursleys' broken bed that was tilted to one side.
"Good night, Mr. Lupin. I'm really tired."
Lupin was glad that Harry could sleep. That way, no one would sneak out of the room in the middle of the night and try to have a thrilling adventure in a dangerous and unfamiliar environment. This was all too familiar to Lupin as Gryffindor.
He wondered if Harry would be Gryffindor. "Good night, Harry." Lupin smiled. Clever Harry might be more like Ravenclaw.
Sirius habitually jumped onto the foot of Harry's bed. When he lived in Privet Drive, he sometimes slept there, but most of the time, he slept in front of Anna's fireplace.
"Go, go, go." Lupin frowned and cruelly drove the dog off the bed. "You guard the door." He was always ruthless to his old friends who made mistakes.
Lupin glanced at Harry, who was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. 'If only my child could be as worry-free as Harry', he thought to himself. He nodded and went to the bathroom to wash up in peace.
What Lupin did not notice was that Harry opened his eyes less than a second after Lupin went into the toilet. He skillfully used the pillow to create a human figure under the blanket, put on the cloak that Dace gave him, and quietly walked out of the Goblin Head room. He did not forget to take the key with him.
Sirius, who was lying at the door, watched silently.
"Let's go, Blackie!" Harry whispered to the dog to keep up.
"Should I stop him?"
Sirius looked at the old wooden toilet door and then at Harry's curious eyes. "Forget it, just this once." With that thought, the big black dog kept up with Harry's pace.
...
"Harry is in... uh... The Tales of Beedle the Poet... Why is he there? What is he doing there?" Miss Bashir Barchat had obviously entered a state of distress. She muttered unconsciously, "What should I do... What should I do..."
It seemed that she was more helpless than Anna and Dumbledore.
"Yes, Ms. Bashida. Do you have any way to get him out?"
Anna put down the fork she was using to eat the cake. She felt that something was wrong. "Can he still come out?"
Bashida touched his little silver hair and was very distressed. "Child, Harry can come out, but it's a little difficult. No … to be exact, it's very difficult …"
"What do we need to do?" Dumbledore fumbled with the brownish-yellow ceramic cup in his hand.
"There's nothing we can do." Bashida looked sad. "The people who are locked inside can only turn their stories into fairy tales before they have a chance to come out …"
"Fortunately, this book is very powerful and can adapt a large part of the story itself. As long as nothing too evil is written, Harry may be able to come out soon," Basil said, looking at Dumbledore.
"Abusi, I remember you saying that someone wrote a diary in there, right?
Perhaps the diary isn't too evil? "
"Uh..." Dumbledore nodded slightly. "What if there are other stories?"
"What kind?"
"War, plague, cruel Muggles and so on …"
Who would write these things in a diary?!
Bashida took a deep breath. "Then we can only pray to the Merlin that this book has the ability to turn most of the content into fairy tales."
"Or else …" Bashida was silent.
"Or else?" Anna looked serious.
"Or else Harry will have to stay in the world of the book forever."
...
"A glass of honey beer, Ms. Angie." A weak voice sounded in front of Ms. Angie, but she didn't see anyone until Harry stepped on Sirius and sat on the bar stool with difficulty.
"We don't serve beer to kids." Ms. Angie glanced at Harry, picked up the rag to drive him away, and continued to wipe the small piece of clean table in front of her.
"Then a glass of milk, Ms. Angie." Harry swayed to avoid the attack of the rag. He looked at Ms. Angie's face carefully, and the mole on her face looked familiar. "May I ask if your husband is called Max?"
Magic Max was Harry's favorite shop when he and a group of friends accompanied Lena in Godric's Valley. The owner of the shop was a kind middle-aged woman with a mole on her face, and she always had a gentle smile on her face.
"Hmm?" Angie looked at Harry up and down. "You know my husband?
How is that possible?
You weren't even born when he died, right? "
Angie took a can of milk from under the counter and put it on the table. When Harry was about to take it, she held his hand and stared into Harry's eyes. "He was crushed to a pulp by a troll, Max Hall. No one will miss that stinking bastard!"
Harry retracted his hand, and the woman's fierce tone scared him.
But he suddenly saw Angie's expression. There was sadness in her eyes, just like the sadness in Aunt Petunia's eyes when she saw Uncle Vernon's crotch.
So Harry plucked up his courage and held Ms. Angie's hand. "My condolences to you, ma 'am." He looked at Angie sincerely. "Life is hard, but everything will be all right."
Harry really thought so, because his own experience was the best proof.
Angie was stunned. After Hall's death, more people were watching the show or smiling sarcastically. No one liked Hall, and no one mourned for Angie, who had lost her husband.
"Angie, you finally got rid of that good-for-nothing. Now this shop is yours!"
Angie, Hall's property is yours. You have achieved your goal of marrying that good-for-nothing. Are you going to have a feast to thank that monster? "
They all thought that Angie didn't like Max Hall, that good-for-nothing, and didn't know that Hall died in the forest while helping Angie pick her favorite flowers.
"Drink it, it's on the house. Only one glass." Angie pulled her hand out and handed the milk to Harry. "Finish it and get upstairs to sleep, kid!
Don't come out at night! "
Angie took the rag and left the bar, ignoring Harry who was sitting on the stool.
"Kid!
Come here! "The man called Goat Man by Ms. Angie waved to Harry." Sit here! "
Although Anna told him not to make too much eye contact with drunk people, Harry jumped off the chair with the milk in his hand and walked over to Goatman. "Hello, Mr. Goatman."
Siris stood between Harry and Goat Man. He stared at the drunk man, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
"Goat Man... Goat Man... Just call me Goat Man. Everyone calls me Goat Man." The man let the alcohol invade his brain and spoke to Harry in a daze. "You're the first person I've seen Angie serve for free..."
"She didn't even... give half of her leftover bread to the little tramp..." Goat Man shook his head and looked at the burning candle. In the dim light, his blue eyes looked even more cloudy.
Dace had mentioned this before. That little tramp should be Satasha's sister. "That little tramp left with the Jumping Pot Old Man, right?"
"Hmm?
Yeah, how did you know? "
Goat Man nodded and took another sip of wine. He looked at Harry in a daze. "To be precise, she didn't leave with the old man. She left with the pot... But that doesn't make a difference..."
"Anyway, she's probably dead..." Goat Man calmly said the scary words.
Harry was shocked. "Wait!
Dace didn't say that! "
Isn't the Jumping Pot Old Man the kindest and friendliest person?! "
"Dace?
Who's Dace? "
Goat Man frowned and shuddered. "The Jumping Pot Old Man used to be friendly, until his son died of the plague —"
"The old man saved many people, but he couldn't save his son. Since then, he hasn't helped anyone. He's been trying to find a way to revive his son..."
Harry swallowed hard.
"The most popular method recently came from the King's City. I heard that a man who was shot through the heart came back alive from the battlefield. When asked how he created the miracle, he said that it was because he was soaked in his child's blood. The blood gave him life —"
"Although I think that's bullshit." Goat Man waved his hand. "But it doesn't stop people from believing it."