The Return to Hogwarts

"Then you should also remember who the boss of this company is, right? He's been mentioned many times when we talked about your uncle's job at home—"

This time, Harry didn't answer as readily. He frowned, thought for a moment, and then slowly said,

"Kurad Blaine. What happened to him?"

"He has cancer."

Aunt Penny said emphatically.

Chapter 128 Reason

Kurard Blaine—the owner of the drilling company where Vernon's uncle worked.

Two or three years ago, Harry might have been able to name him without hesitation, even if he had never met him before. That's not strange, is it? If you often hear your family discussing this name and his stories, you'll also have a strong impression of this complete stranger.

In fact, using the word 'frequently' to describe how often the Dursleys discussed Mr. Curard Blaine is a bit harsh, as they practically talked about him all the time.

Whenever Uncle Vernon talks about the company’s impressive benefits and its growth over the years, he always speaks of Mr. Kurard Blaine and his brilliant decisions with the utmost respect.

That reverent and humble tone, to give an inappropriate example, suddenly reminded Harry of the way Dobby, the house-elf from the Malfoy family he had met last year, spoke to him.

However, during the two summers since he started attending Hogwarts, Harry didn't seem to hear the Dursleys talk about him much anymore. It turned out that he had cancer, a disease that is considered incurable for Muggles.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate—” Harry said, frowning and somewhat surprised, “When did this happen?”

"Two years. Or three or four years?"

Aunt Penny said dryly, "Anyway, this only recently spread to your uncle's company. Before that, Vernon and his colleagues were wondering why Mr. Blaine hadn't been showing up as often. He used to come to the company almost every day to assign tasks to Vernon and the others and tell them what to do."

Hearing this, Harry finally understood what the Dursleys were planning: they hoped to use magic to cure the owner of the drilling company's illness.

Is this allowed?

Harry pursed his lips tightly. He knew that the wizarding world had always had comprehensive laws prohibiting wizards from voluntarily revealing their magical powers to Muggles. His Hogwarts roommate and best friend, Ron's father, worked in this field.

"We're not allowed to show magic like Muggles—I mean, people who don't understand magic. You know, you've all seen it; I received a warning letter last summer."

After a few quick mental spins, Harry gave his answer.

If the circumstances were right, Harry certainly wouldn't object to using magic to save someone's life, but if the price was that he might be expelled from Hogwarts, or even imprisoned in that dreadful magical prison, then that would be a different story.

"Vernon and I have already discussed this—"

The conversation had reached the heart of the matter, Aunt Penny said, her breathing quickening.

“If anyone causes you trouble, we'll help you explain. Many of Vernon's colleagues are trying their best to find doctors with exceptional medical skills. Of course, the chances of a complete cure for that kind of ailment are slim, but as long as it can help Mr. Blaine hold on for a couple more days, or recover some of his energy—you know what we mean? Vernon has been in his supervisory position for several years; he's very capable and should demonstrate his talents in a higher position.”

Aunt Penny repeated herself, emphasizing her words.

“We think you should do something about this, and I think you probably feel the same way. After all, without us, you'd be homeless!”

Harry was radiating resistance; frankly, he didn't want to get involved in this mess, but Aunt Petunia, having already laid it all out, seemed unwilling to let the opportunity slip by.

“You must have people who have had this disease where you are. How does that hospital called St. Mungo usually handle it? Vernon and I will take care of the money, as long as they can come up with some appropriate medicine!”

Aunt Petunia has raised a good question. Harry didn't know how capable St. Mungo's Hospital was. He was thinking about another question: Are there any wizards who have had cancer?

Harry racked his brains trying to recall all the information he had received about the wizarding world since he first came into contact with it at school, but whether it was daily conversations, the wizarding newsletters and newspapers he had read, the professors' digressions in class, or the strange ailments that Madam Pomfrey had talked about in previous years when he was lying in the school hospital, it seemed that none of them had anything to do with this.

"You should know how to be grateful, kid!"

Harry's prolonged silence made his Uncle Vernon, who was worried about his future, impatient. He stomped on the living room wooden floor, making a loud clattering sound, and nearly cracked the kitchen door frame with a slap.

We'll save you from starvation!

He stood by the kitchen door and roared at Harry.

“We’ll give you clothes to wear, send you to school, and even give you Dudley’s old bedroom. If you knew how to spell ‘gratitude,’ you should be overjoyed to agree to this!”

You adopted me because Muggle law requires you to do so, and you let me go to school because school is free, and Dudley didn't want my clothes or my bedroom!

Harry was furious and wanted to say that, but he worried that if he did, the Dursleys would probably chain him to the storeroom at the bottom of the stairs and keep him there until he was an adult, never letting him go back to Hogwarts.

"I have one condition—"

After a long silence, Harry looked up at his uncle Vernon, who was panting heavily, and said with a gloomy expression,

"You must give me back my magic book! I need to finish my summer homework!"

"You actually dare to make demands!"

Uncle Vernon pounded on the nearly broken door frame and roared fiercely.

"Look at your messy hair, and you have no gratitude whatsoever. I knew you were all along, kid!"

“Vernon, the neighbors will hear us—”

Aunt Petunia gave a low warning and then looked at Harry. Her shriveled chest was bulging, and it seemed that Harry's ungrateful attitude had also angered her.

But faced with her cold glare, Harry didn't back down. He was fed up with doing his summer homework under the covers with a flashlight in the middle of the night. If he didn't take this opportunity to get all his magic books back, he could imagine that his Potions professor wouldn't let him off easily when the next semester started.

You must promise—

In the end, Aunt Penny gave in. Her face turned pale, and she spat out each word through clenched teeth.

"Don't make any strange noises, and don't mention your affairs to the neighbors!"

"no problem!"

Harry's heart raced, and he quickly replied that getting the Dursleys to back down was a remarkable victory, but he immediately added,

"I need to check on Mr. Blaine's condition first—"

Under Aunt Petunia's suddenly wary gaze, Harry shrugged and said...

"Only after I have figured out the situation can I ask my friends to inquire about it."

"All right--"

This was a reasonable request, and even Uncle Vernon couldn't find fault with it. He said reluctantly, panting.

“Your aunt, Dudley, and I are planning to pay a visit tomorrow. You can come along, but I must warn you, kid,”

Uncle Vernon bent down, his imposing frame looming over him, a threatening glint in his eyes.

“Mr. Blaine is a very respectable gentleman. If you dare to cause any trouble in his house, kid, I guarantee you'll regret being born!”

Chapter 129 Blaine Manor

Why did I take on this responsibility?

At 10 p.m., as Harry dragged his exhausted body, took off his glasses, and collapsed onto the bed, he deeply regretted his decision.

The reason he was so tired was not because it was a day for spring cleaning, nor because he had been busy in the garden all day, mowing the lawn and fertilizing the delicate flowers in the fenced flowerbeds. In fact, the Dursleys had not assigned him any chores.

Rather, it was because, ever since the matter was settled at breakfast, they had given Harry emergency training to avoid any mishaps when he visited Blaine Manor the next day.

From walking posture, smiling expression, and tone of voice to dining etiquette, they tirelessly and incessantly told him all sorts of details, to the point of being as tedious as the history of magic course taught by Hogwarts' only ghost professor.

The bedroom light was off, but the living room downstairs was still brightly lit, and there were occasional rustling noises coming from inside. Aunt Petunia was urgently making a decent suit for Harry—just before going to bed, they realized that Harry didn't seem to have a single decent-looking suit suitable for visiting high-society people.

It was late at night, and the malls were all closed. It was obviously too late to go out and buy a dress now. After a chaotic commotion, Aunt Penny, whose mind suddenly became much sharper for the sake of her husband's future and the family's prosperous life, suddenly remembered the dress that the Masons, the builders, had prepared for Dudley last summer to entertain them.

Dudley only wore that brand-new suit once and never wore it again, because given the rate at which Dudley's body expanded, he rarely wore clothes for more than two years.

Now, Aunt Petunia only needs to cut up that dress, sew it up, and make two or three outfits for Harry out of the fabric.

Why should I take on this responsibility?

Harry, burying his head in the blankets, pounded the bed in frustration, but he knew the reason himself.

Not only because it was a perfect opportunity to get back his magic book and flying broom, but also because he wanted to give the Dursleys an education.

The Dursleys had always treated magic with utter contempt, calling it a bunch of nonsense. Harry was furious about this but felt helpless. However, this incident gave Harry an opportunity: if he could actually make a difference, the Dursleys might finally take the wonder of magic seriously.

In that case, the summers he has to endure before graduating from Hogwarts might be a little better than they are now.

With that thought in mind, Harry drifted off to sleep, accompanied by the mechanical sound of shearing.

"I hope you all understand the importance of today's visit!"

The next morning, while the golden sunlight was still a little cool, everyone in the house gathered in the living room to listen to the man of the house give a speech.

“At this time last year, if I had been able to close that deal, we would be living in a luxury villa in Mallorca right now. But due to some unforeseen circumstances, we missed that life-changing opportunity!”

Wearing a formal suit for the first time in his life, Harry felt completely out of place and lowered his head. He knew exactly what Uncle Vernon was talking about, but it wasn't really his fault. Who could have imagined that Dobby would happen to show up at the house at that moment and, in an attempt to stop him from returning to Hogwarts, throw a whole cake at the Muggle couple's heads?

It was clear that the Dursleys were nervous about visiting Mr. Blaine. On the way to Blaine Manor in London’s upscale Mayfair district, the new car was kept in a stifling silence, and even Dudley was constantly adjusting the patterned bow tie around his neck that was not visible.

Harry, who was firmly squeezed against the car door by Dudley, was also affected by this atmosphere and became a little nervous. He desperately tried to recall how Madam Pomfrey had asked him about his ailments every time he was admitted to the school hospital.

Upon entering the Mayfair district of Westminster, even the sky seemed to become bluer.

Compared to other residential areas in London, this place is sparsely populated, and the fresh air is filled with the delightful fragrance of roses.

Aunt Penny rolled down the car window and stared with envy and jealousy at the ladies walking their expensive dogs leisurely on the vast green lawns on both sides of the road, chatting and laughing without having to worry about housework. This was the kind of life she longed for.

At the end of the spotless road, a vast, luxurious manor, predominantly white with gold accents, reflects a dazzling brilliance in the sunlight.

In the center of the neat lawn in front of the manor stands a huge fountain that sprays water as high as sixty feet. Around the perimeter of the manor, a row of neat maple trees is planted, and dozens of gardeners are busy climbing up and down the trees, pruning the overly lush branches and leaves.