Chapter 165: The Number One Death Eater Visits

After sending the steward away, Harry seriously explained his concerns to Ivy: "Our friends in the magical world are used to wearing robes, which seems strange to Muggles; and wizards may not be comfortable around Muggles either."

"Then can we just invite our closest friends?" Ivy said somewhat naively.

"But then there might be very few people," Harry mused. "Besides the Weasleys, who are willing to honor us, I doubt many at school are interested in such a dance."

"Then let's mainly invite some Muggle friends," Ivy said, her tone tinged with disappointment.

"When do you plan to set the date?" Harry asked. "Perhaps I can still write to the Weasleys."

"How about July thirtieth?" Ivy's spirits lifted again. "I'll throw you a birthday party—would you mind?"

"Of course. I'll write to Ron right away," Harry rubbed his chin. "Maybe Neville too."

Early the next morning, the owl brought Neville's reply: he was delighted to celebrate Harry's birthday and planned to invite Hannah as his dance partner.

Ron called back a little later; they excitedly planned their holiday. The Weasleys would arrive at Tang Dun before July thirtieth, stay for a while after the birthday party, then take Harry and Ivy with them to watch the Quidditch World Cup on August twelfth.

The thought of spending the second half of August at the Weasleys' made Harry look forward to it.

Alongside these good tidings came a ridiculous bad one: the postman had returned Harry's letter to Sirius because he couldn't find number twelve at Grimmauld Place.

Harry gave the letter again to Hedwig to send, then spent the entire morning discussing the dance with the eager Ivy.

Yet at noon, as Harry changed into his pajamas and prepared for a brief nap, the strange dream returned to his mind once more.

This time he saw more clearly: a long wooden table, Harry seemingly seated at the head. To his left sat a woman with heavy Gothic makeup, terrifying in appearance. Worse still, she stared at him with a fanatical gaze—adoration, affection, and perhaps a touch… of pathological possessiveness.

Harry tried to look away from her, but found he couldn't. In this dream, he could do nothing but passively receive the images. Then his gaze shifted to the table, where a massive white serpent coiled, its head raised, crimson eyes locking with Harry's as it flicked its tongue gently.

Amid a sudden, violent surge of pain, Harry jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

Harry pressed his scar. He felt deeply confused. If he and Voldemort had formed some connection, why hadn't this happened before? McGonagall said Voldemort had already regained his body during the summer of his first year—logically, he should have started having these dreams long ago. Perhaps his power hadn't yet recovered enough to resonate… Harry thought this, but another terrifying suspicion arose: Voldemort had discovered their link and was now using it to orchestrate some scheme.

Harry tried hard not to dwell on that possibility. He walked slowly to the tea room—it was still too early for afternoon tea, but he had no desire to do homework or anything else. As Harry stared blankly at a pot of black tea, the steward brought good news: a bearded man in robes claimed to be Harry's godfather and was waiting in the parlor.

Harry nearly ran to the parlor. Sirius sat smiling on the sofa. Harry noticed he wore a neat black robe—plain, yet made of fabric undoubtedly expensive; this was why he'd easily won the steward's trust. Another pleasant surprise: Harry realized his godfather was actually very handsome. The few times he'd seen Sirius last year, the man had been gaunt, listless, and disheveled. Now, his hair was neatly groomed, his beard unshaven but trimmed into a tidy style, radiating an extraordinary air.

"Harry," Sirius said slowly. "I received your letter. I thought it best to come in person—this matter is too serious."

"Thank you," Harry said, sitting awkwardly beside him.

"I don't know much about magical matters, but one thing is certain," he said, clasping his hands. "Voldemort is growing more cunning."

With Harry's puzzled look, Sirius continued: "When I was young, he began stirring up trouble—but back then, he was more like a terrorist. He didn't care about subtlety; he simply killed anyone he disliked."

"Now, Voldemort has learned patience and concealment. He's been resurrected for over two years, yet the magical world still looks unchanged. That's not a good sign." Sirius paused. "I'd rather he burst out into the open than sit quietly plotting in the shadows."

"I suppose you're right," Harry rubbed his chin. "I just realized today—perhaps this dream is part of his scheme. But why? What is he trying to achieve?"

"Regardless, you must stay alert," Sirius had no better advice, so he offered reassurance. "If anything unusual happens, tell me. We'll figure it out together."

"Alright," Harry shrugged. "By the way, it's been a long time since we parted last term. What have you been up to these past weeks?"

"Funny enough," Sirius said with a hint of resignation, "I'm still on the run. Some Death Eaters keep showing up, as if they truly believe I'm the top Death Eater and want to join me."

"Join you?" Harry couldn't help laughing at the dark humor.

"Yes. The Black family was once prominent—though now I'm the only one left," Sirius said. "My mother was a fanatic about blood purity. My brother—Regulus—was a true Death Eater."

"Add to that the Ministry's relentless propaganda, and it's no wonder some ignorant people think you're Voldemort's right-hand man," Harry nodded. "But what's Voldemort's attitude? He must know Peter was the real informant."

"I don't know. Voldemort never contacted me," Sirius shook his head. "None of his inner circle have reached out. Only low-ranking, failed Death Eaters come to me."

"Then let's play along," a strange idea struck Harry. "We're in the open, he's in the shadows—that's bad for us. But if you gain real influence among the Death Eaters, everything changes."

"No, no," Sirius waved his hand. "Just thinking of speaking to those scum makes me sick."

"But you survived ten years in Azkaban," Harry urged. "And gathering those aimless turncoats under your wing is better than letting them follow Voldemort and commit atrocities, isn't it?"

"But these people will still commit atrocities," Sirius shook his head. "They want to follow me because the Ministry claims I used one spell to kill thirteen Muggles. In other words, they expect me to lead them in more Muggle murders."

"I see," Harry felt the situation was tricky—but then he remembered American superhero comics, and a new idea surfaced. "But I think you could take them to kill Muggles."

At Sirius's confused look, Harry continued: "There are plenty of scum among Muggles too—drug dealers, gangsters, traffickers. If Death Eaters want to kill someone, these people deserve it. And if you lead Death Eaters to hunt and kill these criminals, it's actually good for the Muggle world—just like in superhero comics."

"But I know Muggles have their own Aurors," Sirius's tone wavered. "They should be punished by law."

"The law doesn't reach every corner," Harry recalled comic book logic. "Some evil people always slip through—hiding themselves or colluding with government officials. That's when those with powers who choose to fight crime become vital. They're called vigilantes."

"These Death Eaters probably aren't very smart," Harry pressed. "Take them to the Muggle world as vigilantes. They get to kill Muggles for fun, but won't harm the innocent."

"Harry, I'm proud of you," Sirius said with emotion. "I came here to solve your scar problem, but you've given me a clever solution to my Death Eater problem."

They chatted about trivial matters. Sirius had been battling his house-elf over cleaning the house, while Harry's Muggle family gave him great peace of mind—so he wasn't in a hurry to move Harry to Grimmauld Place. He could take his time sorting through the junk the elf had hoarded.

Harry also asked many questions about his father's generation. Combined with what he'd learned from Sangster, he now knew neither his father nor Sirius had been rule-followers—this made him even more confident and eager about the plan to gather Death Eaters.

Before leaving, Harry found a complete set of Batman comics in the study and gave them all to Sirius. Though he'd only read one or two, Harry believed these books would offer valuable guidance for his godfather's upcoming actions.