Chapter 267

No. 4 Privet Drive, in a small villa.

“Darling! They’re almost here!”

Petunia said, already dressed in a light orange cocktail dress.

Vernon and Dudley, in suits and ties, hurried into the living room, watching a stretched luxury car and several accompanying vehicles pull up to the door.

“It’s said that dear Mr. Potter is very interested in ‘Quidditch’—next I’ll tell a joke about Japanese golfers…”

Vernon muttered nervously to himself.

Several people stepped out of the car; they looked very young, but no one would dare underestimate them, for they were guarded by seven or eight men in suits.

“Let me repeat one last time: after welcoming them, what should we say?”

Vernon asked.

“I’ll open the door for them immediately, then say,”

Dudley’s fat face creased into a grin,

“Shall I take your coats, Mr. Green, Mr. Fennelley, and Mr. Potter?”

“Then I’ll lead them to the living room, introduce you—Petunia—and serve them drinks. At two-fifteen—”

“I’ll announce dinner.”

Petunia said.

“Dudley, you must say—”

“Shall I show you to the dining room, gentlemen?”

As Dudley spoke, he extended his chubby arm, gesturing toward invisible gentlemen.

“What a perfectly proper young gentleman!”

Aunt Petunia sniffed.

“Perfect! Then, at the table, we should say some complimentary things. Petunia, what will you say?”

“Mr. Potter, Vernon told me you’re excellent at ball sports… Mr. Green, could you tell me where you bought your suit…”

“Very good… Dudley?”

“How about this: ‘Mr. Potter, our teacher asked us to write about the person we admire most, so I wrote about you.’”

Everyone was satisfied.

Only Wizard Sean, behind the door, wore a strange expression; Justin was barely holding back his laughter.

Harry, meanwhile, pressed his hand over his mouth, afraid his laughter might escape.

Then the doorbell rang quickly.

Vernon wore a warm, fawning smile; Dudley opened the door as if he’d rehearsed it countless times.

“Welcome!”

Petunia said.

Then a distinguished, pale-skinned boy stepped inside.

“Oh! You must be Mr. Green!”

Wizard Sean nodded expressionlessly.

Petunia’s heart soared—what a handsome, wealthy young master… reportedly in charge of England’s largest manufacturing workshop;

“Mr. Fennelley, this way—”

Vernon greeted him warmly and carefully; this man’s reputation needed no explanation. His family lineage traced back to the 17th-century Civil War. His ancestor, Sir Thomas Fennelley, was commander-in-chief of the Parliamentary forces and a key ally of Oliver Cromwell.

Although the family fell from favor after the Restoration, they regained status in the early 18th century through shrewd marriages and switching allegiance to the Royalists, earning the title of Earl Fennelley from Queen Anne for their financial support during the War of Succession.

Upon seeing the shadow of the last person, Vernon quickly signaled; Dudley, understanding instantly, stepped forward and delivered his rehearsed line:

“Shall I take your coats, Mr. Green, Mr. Fennelley, and Po—Po—Po—Po—”

Dudley froze dumbly in place, lips opening and closing, then trembling.

“I’m sorry, sir, Dudley must be ill.”

Petunia didn’t know what had happened, but she quickly pulled Dudley behind her and forced a smile forward.

“Potter!”

She shrieked.

“Ah! Ah! So sorry—”

Vernon pulled Petunia back behind him.

Then he shouted too:

“Harry Potter?!”

Harry remembered Justin’s instructions in the car and said nothing.

“Surprised? Mr. Potter senior was a close friend of my father’s. Unfortunately, he had no heirs—we finally tracked down this distant relative, Harry Potter.”

Justin explained casually.

Vernon and Petunia were speechless; Dudley shrank behind Petunia, head down.

The meal proceeded under an eerie atmosphere.

Watching their smiles worse than tears, hearing their stammered praises of Wizard Sean and Justin,

Harry knew his life with the Dursleys had changed completely. Though Vernon, now dependent on him, could barely speak, his days in the cupboard were surely over.

During the meal, Justin feigned curiosity as he glanced at the cupboard:

“It seems your nanny’s living conditions aren’t great. But seeing this reminds me of my butler’s story—there’s a family here who constantly abuses children.

The Society for the Prevention of Child Abuse has been searching for them; they’ll probably arrive shortly…”

This turned the Dursleys’ faces deathly pale.

Of course, this was a plan discussed between Justin and Wizard Sean—but the final choice still rested with Harry.

He could send this family to prison, or force them to pay a massive fine.

Harry’s expression remained grim; after the initial surge of triumph, he kept asking himself sharp, unanswerable questions.

He couldn’t answer them—he only wanted to escape.

Wizard Sean watched Vernon eat like a zombie, Petunia trembling so badly her spoon shook, Harry’s face twisted in anguish…

His gaze grew deeper.

Each member of this family lived only in their own world; in life, no one had ever truly entered another’s heart.

They were lonely. Though they seemed intertwined, they were in truth countless isolated individuals.

“If temporary escape brings you relief, Harry, we can leave.”

After the meal, the brooch said.

Harry looked up dazedly, still seeing Wizard Sean’s faintly gentle face.

…

In the end, Harry chose not to tell the Society for the Prevention of Child Abuse workers the truth. From that moment on, the Dursleys seemed to tremble, disbelief written on their faces.

They returned to Diagon Alley.

Hermione, Ron, and Neville, in the car, had watched the entire spectacle through Justin’s open window.

Now they were discussing it heatedly; Hermione and Ron agreed Harry’s decision to spare them was unwise.

Harry said nothing.

At Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, no one disturbed Harry—they let him be alone.

Harry saw the distant horizon a hazy gray; owls flapped their wings, but weakly.

Occasionally, black rooftops blocked the crimson sunset as eagles flew past; unnoticed, the melting ice cream in his cup had dripped down.

Another person had appeared across the table:

“You chose to forgive, but that doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten… Harry, staying true to yourself is remarkable.”

Wizard Sean’s green eyes were stained with the crimson sunset; Harry felt his nose grow sharply sour.