Night deepened in the outskirts of London.
A wizard with long black hair and a beard walked through the shadow-filled alleys, occasionally looking up at the surrounding houses. He carried a canvas bag full of Muggle food, his figure lean.
A gibbous moon, which had once shone over Knockturn Alley and the Ministry of Magic, was now casting its clear light on a small square. In the center of the square was a messy, overgrown patch of grass, surrounded by houses with grim, dilapidated facades.
Some of the houses had broken windows that glinted bleakly in the streetlight. The outer walls were covered in lush ivy. Paint was peeling off many of the front doors, and several houses had piles of rubbish on their front steps.
Sirius had once lived in a square like this, though it hadn't been so run-down back then. Many years ago, this had been a bustling, lively neighborhood. Later, the young people left, and it began to fall into disrepair.
Now, only a few eccentric people refused to move away.
Approaching the houses not yet covered by ivy, one could smell the pungent stench of rotting garbage emanating from the bulging trash bags piled in front of the doors.
Listening closely, one could hear the faint rumble of a stereo vibrating from within the intact glass windows.
"Number 11... Number 13..." Sirius approached, carrying his bag.
He murmured in a low voice, like some kind of incantation. As his voice fell, an old black door suddenly popped out of thin air between the adjacent Number 11 and Number 13. Its paint was mottled and peeling, covered in scratches and tattered.
The silver door knocker was carved into a twisted serpent. Pure-blood families revered Slytherin, and their home decorations almost always featured similar totems. They... followed by filthy outer walls and gloomy windows.
A house suddenly expanded into existence, pushing the houses on either side apart. But the Muggles living inside seemed unaware of any anomaly; the stereos continued to rumble.
Sirius drew his wand and tapped the door lightly.
A crisp sound of metal colliding came from within, followed by the clatter of chains turning, only occasionally sounding a bit stiff.
Creeeak...
The rusty copper hinges groaned under the strain, and the door opened in response.
A damp, fishy, sweet stench hit him in the face—proof that mold and insects were quietly dissecting this old house. The entire mansion was dark and gloomy, almost impossible to see inside. Sirius tapped the wall with his wand, and the gas lamps on the wall lit up.
The light disturbed the indigenous inhabitants here. Rustling sounds came from under the wooden floorboards and inside the walls.
In an old house uninhabited for thirteen years, cockroaches, rats, and doxies had taken over. As long-term residents, they were more familiar with this place than Sirius. startled, they scurried out from corners and quickly vanished into the shadows.
On the wall facing the entrance hall, there were two velvet curtains riddled with moth holes. Seeming to hear the noise in the room, they trembled.
The curtains were pulled open, revealing a life-sized oil portrait behind them.
An elderly witch, perhaps looking gray and yellow-skinned due to the oxidation of the paint:
"Filth! Scum! By-product of dirt and vileness!"
The old lady showed no mercy in her scolding, spitting as she spoke, her expression ferocious and angry.
Sirius glanced at her sideways, couldn't be bothered to pay attention, and walked past indifferently. Seeing more wizard portraits on the wall and the house-elf heads displayed at the turn of the stairs, he couldn't help shaking his head.
"An old house like this is definitely not suitable for hosting Melvin and Harry."
Sirius muttered to himself, feeling quite regretful. "When I was in school, I thought about inviting James and Remus to come over as guests, visit the underground kitchen, introduce the various collections of pure-blood families, and explain the glorious history of the Black family..."
"Whatever. No chance for that anymore."
"Tomorrow I'm going to Hogwarts to pick up Harry, go with him to Godric's Hollow to pay respects to James and Lily, and clean up the Potter family's old house. Maybe I won't come back for the whole Easter holiday. I have plenty of time to clean and tidy... Kreacher, Kreacher!"
After calling several times, footsteps slowly approached from the attic.
An aged house-elf, wearing a filthy rag around his waist and almost naked elsewhere, with loose skin that seemed several times larger than his body actually needed.
His head was bald, with tufts of white hair growing out of his ears. His eyes were bloodshot, his pupils cloudy and gray, and his fleshy nose hung soft and limp past his chin.
That was Kreacher, the servant of the Black family. He looked lazily at the sole heir of the Black family, his master in name only. His gaze fell on the logo on the outside of the canvas bag—the mark of a Muggle supermarket.
Kreacher couldn't help narrowing his eyes slightly.
This was why he hated this heir.
Sirius had once enjoyed the wealth and honor accumulated by the Black ancestors, as well as the magic flowing in his blood. According to the inheritance of pure-blood families, he should have added glory to this honor, been cautious in his words and deeds, maintained the purity of the bloodline, and ensured that the ancestors' blood was not defiled.
But from the moment he entered Hogwarts, he had been betraying the honor of the Black family, sorted into that reckless and rude Gryffindor house, making friends with half-bloods and those of lowly Muggle birth, touching Muggle things, playing with motorcycles, playing video games...
After graduation, he would rather live in a classmate's home than stay in the Black family mansion.
If the Master and Mistress hadn't been kind-hearted, they would have kicked Sirius off the family tree long ago.
"Kreacher, did you hear me?"
"..."
"Clean the old house during the Easter holidays. I'll leave this food and drink for you."
"..."
"If you continue to play dumb, I'll throw everything in this old house out and sell it as scrap!"
Having stayed in Azkaban for a long time, occasionally putting on the attitude of a prisoner worked wonders on certain difficult-to-communicate creatures.
"I understand..." Kreacher's voice was hoarse and low, like a bullfrog's croak.
Sirius grinned and patted the bulging canvas bag. "Cheer up, Kreacher! At least you don't have to gnaw on moldy cold bread. Before you start working, you can taste some normal hot food! Don't say anything about Muggles or pure-bloods; this is stuff the Ministry allows to be sold."
Kreacher's face remained gloomy as he secretly clutched the ornament worn around his neck—a locket.
...
The first day of the Easter holidays, a leisurely morning.
In the Gryffindor common room, Harry stood somewhat awkwardly in the middle, holding a cookie in his hand, looking troubled.
Standing around him were several figures: besides his two friends Ron and Hermione, there were George, Fred, and the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan.
People came and went in the common room, constantly passing by. Many noticed the peculiar group over here, but they all kept a safe distance, wary of that cookie, watching from afar and daring not get too close.
Some time ago, Professor Levent had invested a large sum of research and development funds in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, turning inventions that previously could only stay on blueprints into reality. But the actual effects of the prank items still needed live testing.
George and Fred were notorious, so they could only resort to coaxing and tricking. A batch of students had already fallen victim.
The most serious accident happened last night. The whole school gathered in the Great Hall to enjoy the dessert of the Easter feast. Angelina drank a few glasses of Butterbeer and let down her guard. When getting mango pudding, she asked George to help pass the icing sugar.
The result was icing sugar laced with Nosebleed Nougat.
In less than half a minute, blood poured from both of Angelina's nostrils, scaring a group of young witches into screaming and nearly causing a stampede.
She was sent directly to the hospital wing. However, after Madam Pomfrey's examination, she only ruled out Quidditch falls and rhinitis; nothing else was found.
But after Angelina calmed down and recalled the situation, she realized she had been tricked by the pudding. George had helped pass the icing sugar, so the suspect was quickly locked down.
Since it concerned food safety in the school, Professor McGonagall made a special inquiry. After learning the truth, she didn't deduct points from Gryffindor but sentenced the twins to a month of detention, cleaning the toilets in the whole school with Filch.
Prank item experiments were also restricted. They were not allowed to trick classmates into trying them; volunteers had to be informed and agree beforehand.
The twins didn't care about detention; they only cared about the efficacy of the Skiving Snackboxes. Early this morning, they looked for volunteers in the common room, deliberately acting pitiful. After begging around Gryffindor, they found Harry.
At this moment, Ron was whispering, "George and Fred's Skiving Snackbox series only produce symptoms but won't cause actual damage. Angelina's last night was the Nosebleed Nougat. This one of yours is the Puking Pastille. After eating it, you will have vomiting symptoms. You didn't eat breakfast this morning, so you shouldn't vomit anything out."
"Shouldn't?" Harry repeated.
"Hard to say." Ron was also somewhat expectant. "Maybe you have some undigested dinner left in your stomach and might vomit it out later."
"Ew..." Harry began to regret it.
Last night, because of the upcoming Easter holidays, his mind was full of the trip to Godric's Hollow. He stayed up until two in the morning before falling asleep and had bizarre dreams. Waking up this morning with a groggy head, he couldn't withstand their pestering and confusedly agreed.
"Don't think too much, Harry. As long as you test the effect of the Skiving Snackbox, George and Fred will supply you for free in the future. Next time Snape gives you a hard time, you can pretend to be sick and skip class."
"Pretend to be sick in front of the Potions professor?"
Harry thought about it and asked, holding a pessimistic view. He felt Snape could lift the effect of the Skiving Snackbox on the spot and mix in some new poison for him while he was at it.
"Try it quickly!" George urged from the side.
"We won't let you suffocate from vomit blocking your airway," Fred shouted.
More and more students gathered on the periphery. There were lower-year Creevey brothers as well as upper-year Quidditch players. On the first day of the Easter holidays, everyone wanted to find some fun.
Harry steeled himself. Just as he was about to grit his teeth and eat the Puking Pastille, he suddenly heard Seamus shout:
"Professor McGonagall is coming! And Professor Levent!"
The common room instantly turned chaotic, and the onlookers scattered in a hurry.
Harry and the others were blocked in the middle. Some breathed a sigh of relief, some were terrified. It wasn't until the surrounding students completely dispersed that they hurriedly moved. Fred snatched the Puking Pastille and hid it, while the others stood in a row.
Melvin surveyed the furnishings of the Lion House common room. His gaze finally landed on the students' lowered heads, finding it amusing, like trembling quails.
Professor McGonagall walked up to them, her gaze sweeping lightly over the twins. She pursed her lips and turned to look at her Seeker: "Harry, come with me. Sirius is here to pick you up."
"Okay."
Harry followed Professor McGonagall out. Before crawling out of the portrait hole, he turned back and made a face at the group.
Ron was somewhat disappointed. He didn't get to see the effect of the Puking Pastille, and he was missing a playmate for the Easter holidays.
George and Fred exchanged glances, winking and celebrating. Since Professor McGonagall didn't pursue it, the matter was over.
Hermione raised her head slightly, looking at the young professor remaining in the common room, her fair face full of curiosity: "Professor Levent, do you need something from us?"
"I'm looking for George and Fred."
Melvin looked at the pair of living treasures, the twins. "Remember your internship at the Muggle factory this summer? You need to go through formalities to prove your identity—birth certificates, medical cards... Are you 16 yet?"
George and Fred were jubilant, saying in unison: "Our birthday was two days ago!"
"Then we can get a National Insurance number." Melvin turned and walked toward the portrait hole.
George and Fred followed happily.
The group of three arrived at the office. The twins seemed a bit nervous. Muggle factories and Muggle identification were completely unknown experiences to them. However, Arthur often mentioned Muggle society at the Burrow, which gave them some confidence.
"Let me be clear beforehand: these identification documents are not forged."
Melvin's first sentence made the two focus.
"The Ministry of Magic and the Muggle government have been conducting business cooperation recently. Your identities and summer internship arrangements are all arranged in the name of inspection."
Melvin handed over a few sheets of A4 paper. "Fill out these documents first."
George and Fred looked at the paper, which was completely different from parchment, and found the words on it novel. "Professor, what is a birth certificate?"
"Similar to Hogwarts' Book of Admittance. When every Muggle is born, the local hospital registers detailed information, recording their date and place of birth," Melvin answered casually.
"And what is an insurance number?"
"A string of numbers that every Muggle over 16 has. It's a fundamental identity marker for employment, paying taxes, and enjoying benefits."
"Driver's license... we know this one!"
George's expression became excited. "Dad mentioned it when modifying that car. It's the same as our Apparition license. You can't drive without a license. The Professor was targeted by Umbridge last time because of unlicensed Apparition!"
Fred's eyes also lit up. "Professor, you don't have an Apparition license, but you must have a driver's license, right? Can you show us?"
Melvin: ...
You guys seem a bit offensive.