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

"Why?" Harry asked in confusion. "I've already driven away the Soul Eater, so there shouldn't be any problems here."

Having said that, Harry still grabbed one of Dudley's huge arms, put it on his shoulder, and dragged him forward. Dudley's weight pressed him so hard that he couldn't even straighten his back.

"You're wrong. It's not safe here at all!" Mrs. Figg stumbled ahead of them, watching the corner vigilantly.

Lamia did not dare to be careless. After turning into a bat, she walked in front diligently to scout the road for Harry to see if there were any hidden Soul Eaters or other strange creatures.

"Leave your wand outside," Mrs. Figg said to Harry as they entered the Wisteria Path. "Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now. The punishment is inevitable. Death for a dragon is death for an egg."

At this time, Lamia stopped in front of an intersection, where someone seemed to be standing.

"What's that at the intersection? Oh, it's Mr. Prentiss. Don't put your wand away, child. I've always told you that I'm useless!" Mrs. Figg was very angry that Harry took back his wand, and she said harshly.

But it was not an easy task for Harry to hold his wand steady while dragging Dudley forward.

"Dudley, Dudley, wake up, there's pizza here, Dudley?" Harry poked his cousin's ribs impatiently, hoping to get Dudley to walk home by himself, but Dudley seemed to have completely lost the desire to move. He collapsed on Harry's shoulder, his two big feet dragging on the ground. No matter what Harry said, he didn't respond at all.

Lamia was still walking in front. The man standing at the intersection was just a drunkard and would not affect them at all.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a Squib before, Mrs. Figg?" asked Harry, panting with exhaustion as he dared not stop. "I've been to your house so many times—why didn't you tell me a word?"

"That was all Dumbledore's orders. He told me to keep an eye on you, but I couldn't say anything. You were too young at the time. I'm sorry I made you unhappy, Harry."

"But if the Dursleys think you like coming to my house, they will never let you come again, alas." Mrs. Figg didn't know how to express her true meaning, and could only repeat her difficulties over and over again.

She wrung her hands together. "If Dumbledore heard of this—how could Mundungus have left when he was supposed to be on duty until midnight—where had he gone? How would I report this to Dumbledore? I can't Apparate."

"I have an owl I can lend you." Harry hummed, suspecting that his spine was about to be broken by Dudley.

"Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore needs to act quickly, because the Ministry of Magic has its own methods of detecting the use of magic by minors. They probably already know about it, believe it or not."

"But I have to get rid of the Dementors, I have to use magic - they're surely more concerned about why Dementors keep hanging around Wisteria Walk, aren't they?"

"Oh, my dear, I wish it were so. Wait a minute - Mundungus Fletcher, I'm going to kill you!" Mrs. Figg's eyes suddenly became fierce.

With a sharp explosion, a strong stench of tobacco and alcohol rose in the air, and a short and fat man with an unshaven beard and wearing a tattered coat suddenly appeared in front of them.

His short, bowed legs, long, tangled ginger hair, and puffy, bloodshot eyes gave him the look of a basset hound, and in his hand he clutched something silver which Harry recognized as the Invisibility Cloak.

"What's the matter, Figg?" he asked, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry and then to Dudley. "Didn't you agree not to reveal your identity?"

"God damn you!" cried Mrs. Figg. "Dementor, you evasive, worthless liar!"

"Dementors?" Mundungus repeated, terrified. "Dementors, here?"

"Yes, right here, you worthless, stinking pile of dung, right here!" screamed Mrs. Figg. "Dementors have attacked the child in your charge!"

"Good heavens," whispered Mundungus, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry and back again. "Good heavens, I—"

"You went to buy those stolen crucibles! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?" Mrs. Figg shouted angrily.

"I—well, I—" Mundungus seemed distraught. "This—this business opportunity is a rare one, you see—"

But Mrs. Figg paid no attention to him. She raised her arm with the net bag and hit Mundungus hard on the face and neck with it.

Judging from the jingling sound, the net bag must be full of cat food.

"Oh—enough—enough, you mad old bat! Someone must tell Dumbledore!"

"Yes—they—are going!" cried Mrs. Figg, throwing the bag of cat food thoughtlessly at Mundungus. "It would be better—for—you—to go yourself—so you can—tell—him—why—you're not—here—to help!"

“Put your hairnet on!” Mundungus said, shielding his head with his arms and shrinking back. “Harry is all right, and besides, I’m back now.”