After HP shared the dream, Lao Fu was conquered by me

"Harry, he'll be fine," Lamia said, seeming quite certain.

"I hope so, but my scar, Lamia, remember what I said before?" Harry glanced at Ron.

"What's the matter?" Hermione looked confused. She didn't understand what the scar in Harry's mouth meant.

"Hermione, that happened last week, before you came. I told Lamia and Ron when they came to see me," said Harry, rubbing the lightning scar on his head with his fingers.

"What's going on?" Hermione said anxiously. She felt that it must not be a good thing, otherwise their expressions would not be so strange.

"I had a dream. In the dream, Vol, no, the You-Know-Who killed a Muggle, and he was going to kill me." Harry covered his head in pain. "Then I woke up, and the scar hurt especially." He seemed to still be able to recall the pain at that time.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but maybe it was just a nightmare?" said Hermione nervously.

"Yes, even though it was a dream," said Harry, turning to look out the window at the gradually brightening sky. "It's strange, isn't it? ... My scar hurts, and three days later there's the Death Eaters marching, and Voldemort's symbol is in the sky again."

Everyone fell silent. Lamia turned silently and watched the slowly rising sun with Harry.

"Harry, so what? The You-Know-Who can't kill you now." After a long pause, Lamia said, "We will definitely find a solution."

Ron nodded. Although he had no idea yet, he felt that Lamia was right.

The conversation was eventually stopped by Hermione, who was simply too sleepy.

But Ron planned to play a family version of Quidditch with the Weasley twins, which as expected earned him the unreserved turns of his back from Lamia and Hermione.

For the next week, neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy were home very often. They would leave the house early in the morning before the rest of the family got up, and would not return until long after dinner.

"It's been a mess," Percy told them gravely one Sunday evening, the day before they were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler quickly, it explodes. There's scorch marks all over my desk, and my best quill is just a cinder."

"Why do they all send Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was sitting on the rug in front of the living room fire, mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Scotch tape.

"Complaining about World Cup security," Percy said. "They want compensation for the damage to their property. Mundungus Fletcher is claiming a tent with twelve bedrooms and a Jacuzzi, but I've got him figured out. I know he's actually spending the night under a cross-breasted cloak propped up on sticks."

Percy straightened his collar with pride.

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but it could tell you a lot of other things.

It has nine golden hands, each with the name of a Weasley family member engraved on it. There are no numbers on the clock face, but instead the places where each family member might be. There are "home", "school" and "work", as well as "on the road", "missing", "hospital", "prison", and at twelve o'clock on an ordinary clock, it is marked "life danger".

At this moment, all eight needles were pointing to "home", and Mr. Weasley's needle - the longest of the nine needles - was still pointing to "work". Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"Ever since You-Know-Who fell from power, your dad hasn't had to work weekends," she said. "Now they're wearing him out. If he doesn't get home soon, his dinner's going to be ruined."

"Hey, Dad feels like he has to make up for his mistake on finals day, doesn't he?" Percy said. "To be honest, it was a bit unwise of him to speak in public without consulting his department head—"

"How dare you blame your father for that nasty woman Skeeter's nonsense!" said Mrs. Weasley, suddenly furious.

Lamia's eyes darkened.

Mrs. Weasley's voice suddenly rose a degree. "If Dad doesn't say anything, old Rita will comment that it's beneath the Ministry of Magic to keep silent."

Bill, who was playing chess with Ron, said, "Rita Skeeter never writes nice things about anyone. Remember that time she interviewed all the curse breakers at Gringotts and called me 'Hairy Ghost'!"

"I say, your hair is a little long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "If you only let me—"

"No, Mom."

……

Raindrops pattered against the living room window as Hermione concentrated on The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four, a copy Mrs. Weasley had bought for her, Lamia, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley.

Charlie was darning a fireproof pullover hood, and Harry was reading a book. Lamia saw many pictures of flying brooms in the book and guessed that it should be a book about Quidditch.

Fred and George sat in a corner over there, quills in hand, heads bent over a piece of parchment, talking quietly, occasionally glancing in Lamia's direction.

Lamia sat upright by the fireplace, her legs covered with a small blanket knitted by Mrs. Weasley. Seeing everyone busy with their own things, she didn't want to do anything and just wanted to stay in a daze.

"What are you two doing?" Mrs. Weasley asked sternly, emerging from the kitchen and fixing the twins with a fierce look.

"Doing homework," Fred replied vaguely.

"Don't embarrass yourself, it's the holidays," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Yeah, we're a little behind," George said.

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the papers George had tucked under his arm and pointedly said, "Are you planning another Weasleys' Trick?"

"Oh, Mum," Fred said, looking up at her with a pained expression on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express were wrecked tomorrow and George and I were dead, how would you feel if the last words we heard from you were baseless accusations?"

Everyone laughed, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't help laughing too.