A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts-Chapter 606: Harry’s New Neighbor - (1)

Chapter 606: Harry's New Neighbor

"Look at his name!" Uncle Vernon snorted, "Tom? His parents didn't put much thought into it. I bet there are a million people named Tom in the whole of Britain, everywhere you go, there's a Tom—colleagues at meetings, salespeople, football players, even beggars..."

He grumbled to himself, seemingly trying to cover up the increasingly bland taste of the food.

This distracted Harry, as he had just accidentally dropped his fork, leaving a stain on the clean tablecloth. Aunt Petunia hadn't had a chance to shoot him a disapproving look before her attention was diverted. Harry quickly picked up the fork, determined to finish his meal and leave immediately.

The news reporter dutifully continued—

"...the existing hotline will be closed..." Uncle Vernon started expressing his opinions again, "Where are the pictures? What does he look like? And the reward!" He roared, as if annoyed at missing out on an extra income opportunity.

"He's already been caught," Harry pointed out dryly.

Thinking that if Uncle Vernon knew the significance of this name, his attitude might change. Even without revealing that this name once belonged to Voldemort, just letting him know it was a dark wizard without any moral compass, the leader of a criminal organization, would be enough to scare the cowardly Uncle Vernon.

"No need for your reminders!" Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry.

"No hotline," Aunt Petunia suddenly said, maintaining her usual sharpness for secrets and gossip.

"What?" Uncle Vernon asked in surprise.

"No hotline. I haven't seen... it wasn't mentioned on TV, and besides," Aunt Petunia frowned, "I've never heard that name."

Harry fully understood her meaning. She wouldn't easily let go of any piece of gossip, and a murderer was quite a thrilling topic. If she could comment on existing security measures during the neighborhood tea, she would immediately steal the spotlight.

Harry glanced at the news reporter, interpreting it differently. Perhaps this was a secret message among wizards, telling their hidden brethren in Muggle communities: the war is over... He silently applauded the person who came up with this idea because Voldemort's name should not appear on Muggle television programs. Using "Tom Riddle" would be much safer, especially with Rita Skeeter's continuous reports, Voldemort's young alias was no longer a secret.

Lost in his thoughts, the dining table quieted down. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stared at him in unison.

Harry was confused, not knowing how he had provoked them this time. However, the TV news gave him the answer—

"...ornithologists speculate that the abnormal behavior of owls may be related to changes in the Earth's magnetic field. It's reported that such incidents have occurred before, as early as fifteen years ago..."

Aunt Petunia gasped, and Uncle Vernon's small eyes bulged as he clenched the fork in his hand.

"I'm done," Harry quickly said, putting down his utensils and getting up from the chair.

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"Don't think about leaving; we need an explanation, boy!" Uncle Vernon yelled.

"There's nothing—"

"There is!" Dudley suddenly chimed in, glaring with a pair of eyes inherited from his father. "I heard it all," he pointed with his chubby fingers at Harry, and Harry had to look closely to see the fork he held.

"—in his room, there's always the sound of wings flapping and bird calls at night."

"That's the owl!"

"Clearly, you're up to something—"

Harry interjected irritably, "Fine, I get it. Something big happened in the wizarding world. Voldemort has fallen," he pointed at the TV, "The guy they just talked about, Tom Riddle, that was him. This was his school name."

Before they could react, Harry rushed upstairs in three steps.

Maybe he should have told them. Harry thought as he pushed open the door. But he had been too busy lately, and what difference would it make if he told them? Would they truly be happy?

The bedroom was messy, with various items scattered around. There was barely any space to walk. If Aunt Petunia had seen this, she would have screamed. But she hadn't visited for a long time, and unless necessary, she avoided calling Harry's name. So Harry casually made the room a mess. Glancing out the window, he realized Sirius had been coming home late these days.

Of course, his godfather was happily hunting down dark wizards with his old partner. When would Sirius realize that he was being a nuisance between Lems and Tonks?

Hedwig was pecking at her cage, and Harry bent down to open the door. After Hedwig came out, she spread her wings and flew into the dark night like a ghost. Harry moved the cage and picked up a small box from the floor.

Inside were some unfolded letters stacked in chronological order. The top one was from Hermione sent yesterday.

"...our family went to Norway, where the weather is mostly hot. The salmon here is particularly delicious. I dare not swim; the waves are a bit strong, and I'm afraid I'll be unable to resist using magic. If you ever visit here, be sure to bring toiletries and an extra warm garment in case the weather turns cold when it rains..."

"Is that a letter from your friend?"

Harry suddenly raised his head, seeing Dudley's fat body blocking the doorway. He seemed to want to point at the letter in Harry's hand, but aside from making his three-layered fat more obvious, it also blocked his already small eyes.

"None of your business."

Harry said angrily, taking a step forward, ready to close the door. A strange feeling flashed in his mind. Dudley used to be just like his parents, avoiding him in this world. But now Dudley's hand blocked the door, and Harry realized his cousin had taken an interest in his life in the other world, just like the Dursleys, or Mrs. Figg, who had recently revealed she was a witch...

This was absurd. There must be a reason, and it likely had to do with himself. A sudden realization crossed Harry's mind. He remembered something, and he walked quickly to the cupboard, knocking over a few quills and ink bottles on the way. He didn't pay any attention, reaching into a slightly deeper drawer lacking a partition— it was empty.

"You took my book?" Harry gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of anger at the invasion of his privacy, a long-suppressed emotion bursting forth. He unpleasantly recalled his childhood: he didn't have any decent toys; they were all Dudley's leftovers. And he had to hide from Dudley; if he was caught, there would be two outcomes—either he'd cry to Aunt Petunia to take the toy back, preferring to throw it away; or he'd just snatch it from Harry and stomp on it.

The only consolation was that Dudley had never entered the cupboard where he used to live because he couldn't fit in since he was six. That allowed Harry to hoard a few pieces of junk like a house-elf.

When Harry realized it, the wand had appeared in his hand like lightning, pressed against Dudley's neck. The wand tip shimmered with threatening red light, and Dudley's face turned white with fear. He tried to move his neck back, his fat toes tiptoeing as if he were a clumsy ballet dancer.

"Don't—you can't—use magic—outside—"

"I don't care!" Harry squeezed out a few words through his teeth, seriously considering casting a curse on Dudley. He had seen a spell in the Half-Blood Prince's textbook that made fingers grow rapidly, but then he thought of Snape, and his mood darkened.

"Normally, you would never dare to come over. I should have thought... you've been acting weird all summer," Harry took a deep breath, "Right, you stole my book, Lockhart... and that set of comics... You think you know magic now, huh? Tell me, what do you want to do this time?"

Dudley seemed unable to catch his breath, his face turning red, and he wanted to push away the wand with his hand. But the wand danced with a few sparks threateningly, and he was too scared to move.

Harry calmed down a bit.

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