Lupin's eyes were extremely sharp.

They obediently opened the car door and got in. Wizards always manage to do things that are inconsistent with their appearance, so the interior of the car was unusually spacious.

Sirius stretched comfortably, with his arms fully extended, without swinging his arms into anyone's face.

You can even pull out a wine table and put out wizard chess.

Arthur had driven fast many times, and his driving experience was totally disproportionate to his lack of knowledge about cars. Even though he was chatting with Sirius about car brands, styles, and interiors, and even asked about the difference between steam engines and fuel engines, his mind was almost entirely on Sirius, but he still drove steadily.

Drinks on the table will not spill.

The transparent car travels through the clouds, occasionally startling a flock of birds. They are uneasy and panicked, but they don't notice anything.

More than an hour later.

They landed smoothly amid the irrelevant chatter of Lupin and Tonks.

Sirius was about to push the door open.

"Wait, don't be in a hurry. If we go out now, we will scare the Muggles." Arthur stopped him quickly, rummaged in his pocket, and soon took out a silver lighter.

He rolled down the window and held out his hand.

With a click—he struck the flint, and the nearest street lamp seemed to have its soul sucked out, and the light source slid in an arc and sank into the lighter.

Harry looked at it with surprise in his eyes.

Not extinguished.

It means swallowing up the light in a conceptual sense.

"I borrowed this from Dumbledore," Arthur muttered, clicking his fingers together. "He said it was a very powerful magic item, but it doesn't seem to have any other use except turning off lights."

Soon, the whole square was plunged into darkness.

Arthur wanted to press it again.

"Don't press it anymore." Harry held down his hand. "If you press it again, you'll turn off the lights in other people's houses."

Arthur took the lights-off device back in disappointment. It looked ordinary, but pressing it was really relaxing.

He raised his wand and was about to cast a spell.

Sirius reached out and flipped a button, and the lights in the carriage suddenly came on.

"Harry, Remus, both of you look at this." Arthur pulled out a slip of paper and unfolded it.

On it was written in Dumbledore's flamboyant handwriting: "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is ​​located at 12 Grimmauld Place, London."

The note was ordinary and the words on it were ordinary.

But in such an ordinary moment, a magical aura surged out, wrapped around him and Lupin, wrapped around their wrists, and quickly disappeared into their bodies.

"Fidelius Charm." Harry reached out his hand, trying to catch the breath, but failed.

"Yes." Sirius comforted him, "But don't worry, Harry. I didn't make any suggestions on my own initiative this time. The secret keeper is Professor Dumbledore. No one can pry the location of the headquarters from him."

Harry picked up the note and waved it before his eyes.

"No, this is an exception. I have to tell you, otherwise you won't be able to get in even if we take you with us." Sirius was embarrassed and spoke through gritted teeth.

He rubbed his hands together, and the Igni Sign emerged, devouring the note and reducing it to ashes.

Then, another vanishing spell was cast, and even the ashes disappeared without a trace.

Only then did they get off the car.

The square was pitch black. I groped my way forward in the dark. With the help of the moonlight, I could vaguely see some things.

Many years ago, Grimmauld Place may have been a wealthy area in London and an iconic building complex, but now it is dirty and dilapidated, with garbage piled up everywhere, and the nose is full of corrupt and fishy smells. The walls of the houses are falling off, and are covered with moss and ivy.

It's very old.

The house on the note didn't seem to exist.

They were now in the middle of two rooms, with "Number 11" on the left and "Number 12a" on the right - although there was the number "12" hanging on the sign, it actually represented "Number 13". The British hated the number "13" and usually replaced it with other words or numbers.

No need for Arthur to remind you.

Harry thought to himself, "Between 11 and 12a, there's 12 Grimmauld Place."

It is caused by the mind’s imagination and reality.

Number 11 and 12a were pushed aside, and they retreated silently to the sides. Number 12 squeezed out from between them. It was a dirtier and more dilapidated house. A rare magical plant was stuck on the dirty walls - it could only grow in a basically uncleaned home environment. Professor Sprout had a headache for a long time trying to find them.

The door was also dirty, and the exquisite and elegant black paint on it had almost completely peeled off, leaving only a few small pieces in the corners.

There were scratches on the left and right, carved hideously on the door.

Families from Slytherin House seem to love snakes very much. There is also a snake on the door of the Black family's house - a shiny silver Ouroboros, hanging on it as a door knocker.

Apart from those who were watching this scene happen, no one else noticed the changes here.

The neighbors at No. 11 and No. 12a didn't notice it, and even No. 8, who pressed his eyes against the window and peeked out curiously, didn't notice it.

Sirius pulled out his wand and tapped the knocker.

The silver snake turned, and there was a click-click sound - the mechanism made a noise, and the old chain rubbed against each other, making a harsh and laborious sound. After a long while, the door creaked and opened with difficulty.

"Time to lube up," Sirius sighed.

He touched the ancient door, his tone inexplicably melancholy.

This used to be his home, but even here, he did not enjoy a good childhood.

"Let's go." He shook his head, "Go in quickly and be careful."

They stepped over the threshold and went inside.

Arthur was the last one. He held up the lightsaver and released balls of light one by one. The street lights soon lit up again.

When he came in, the door was slammed shut with a bang.

The room was dark, and the damp, stale air filled his nostrils. Harry raised his wand and cast a cleansing spell to make the smell slightly better.

"How do I turn on the lights?" Harry cast a fluorescent charm, illuminating the surroundings.

Sirius muttered, "I remember this being here?"

He walked to the side and reached out his hand to touch it. After a while, an ethereal light was released, illuminating the narrow hallway. The wallpaper around it was peeling and hanging half-dead, and the carpet was polished by years of trampling, and even the original pattern on it could not be seen clearly.

All the old, dusty ornaments were in the shape of snakes - as if Black was the heir of Slytherin.

Harry had the sharpest senses.

He could hear that there were at least five or six biomes in this house, with common cockroaches and vixen, goblins that shouldn't be here, and carnivorous slugs. The environment was so bad that it was not even as good as the Forbidden Forest - at least the air in the Forbidden Forest was much fresher.

In the distance, there were hurried footsteps.

Molly appeared at the other end of the hallway and greeted them, saying in a low voice: "Arthur, and Harry, you are finally back, more than ten minutes later than we expected..."

"It's been a while since we last met, so it took us a while to chat," Arthur explained carefully, "but don't worry, we didn't run into any trouble."

"Harry." Molly ignored her husband and hugged Harry warmly. "Finally I see you again. How was your summer vacation? Ron kept talking about you. You seem to have lost some weight. But dinner will have to wait a while. Just now a group of vixens came over to make a fuss..."

Arthur interrupted his wife, "It was you who kept talking about Harry. Ron, George, Fred and the others were having a blast."

Molly glared at him.

Arthur shrank back.

"Let's go upstairs? Ron and George are all there." Molly let go of Harry. "Miss Granger hasn't come yet. She may need you or Tonks to pick her up."

Arthur grabbed Harry's arm, "I'm afraid not. Harry has to come with us to the meeting."

"Harry is only in fifth grade!" Molly exclaimed in a low voice.

Arthur held his wife's shoulders and said, "But Harry is very mature and powerful, much better than any of us adult wizards. Dumbledore and Harry are the backbone of the Order of the Phoenix."

Molly sighed, tears welling up in her eyes. She found it hard to accept that a little wizard, like her own child, had to shoulder such a huge responsibility.

"Dear Aunt Molly, don't worry, I'll be fine." Harry hugged her again.

Molly nodded: "Okay, let's go. Dumbledore must have his reasons for doing this."

They hurried out of the hall.

Arthur's voice returned to normal volume: "Sirius, you are finally here. After the meeting, we will discuss how to clean this room."

"I've already told you, you can do whatever you want." Sirius spread his hands nonchalantly, then paused, "But those books must be kept for Harry."

Arthur shook his head: "No, this is your house after all. We are embarrassed to borrow it, how can we clean it casually? Besides..."

He lowered his voice: "That house-elf is very difficult to deal with."

"Kreacher?" Sirius threw out a name.

Arthur nodded.

Sirius gritted his teeth: "Don't worry, I will convince it."

No one has returned to the Black mansion for many years. Although there are house-elves here, they seem to be only using magic to maintain the integrity of the house structure. Even those diligent creatures have given up on maintaining cleanliness and hygiene.

They walked up to the second floor on the creaky steps that sounded like they could collapse at any moment.

Walk through the long, dark corridor to the living room at the end.

The space is large, with a huge floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the square and street outside. A huge fireplace is punched through one wall, with glass cabinets on both ends that were once exquisite but are now dilapidated.

Filled with the scent of various creatures.

There were living vixens, shivering Boggarts that had been tossed around and were hiding, a nest of dead cattails, and some non-magical animals, spiders, cockroaches, centipedes, which were hiding in deeper corners, in dense groups.

The living room had been tidied up, at least the long table was clean, with new candlesticks on it, and many people were sitting next to it.

Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and even Rita Skeeter.

"Why is this woman here!" Sirius was a little angry and looked at Rita in disbelief.

"Why can't I be here?" Rita pinched her waist and said confidently, "For Mr. Potter, I went through life and death. Even if I have no credit, I have worked hard!"

"Got fired from the Daily Prophet and had nowhere to go?" Harry said briefly.

Rita was startled and tilted her head back. Her square glasses slipped off her face uncontrollably. She caught them in a hurry and put them back on: "Mr. Potter, how did you know?"

"You haven't posted a single article since the holiday." Harry sat down and answered her, "I thought you were caught again, but now I see you are obviously safe and sound."

Rita sighed, raised her hand and slammed the table hard. With a click, a crack appeared and a few pieces of wood chips flew out.

His body stiffened and his voice became panicked: "I didn't use any force! It was very gentle, very gentle!"

She took out her wand and tried to cast a spell to repair it, but the repair spell fell on it and not only failed to repair it, it even made the crack bigger.

"I forgot to tell you." Sirius said slowly, "This table has been counter-cursed, so magic won't work."

"You Blacks..." Rita's face turned red. For Harry's sake, she swallowed the last few obscene words. "You also cast counter-curses on furniture?"

"One or two Blacks are indeed sick." Sirius nodded and helped Rita to say the words she dared not say. "How would I know that our ancestors thought so? Maybe they just wanted to avoid the house-elves casting spells and be lazy."

"A spell cleans better than a human one," Harry reminded him.

Sirius deadpanned, "But this is not noble, nor elegant, nor does it reflect the difference between master and servant."

There is nothing noble about buying a side of fried potatoes from downstairs.

But if you send someone to run from Great Britain to France on two legs and buy a serving of fried potatoes, even if they are wilted and without heat, they are still noble.

"I'll try to fix it. If that doesn't work, I'll buy you another one." Rita sighed and accepted the bad luck.

"This table is medieval," Sirius kindly reminded her, "over six hundred years old."

Rita's breathing stopped for a moment.

What does history mean? It means money. Lots of Galleons.

"Can you wait for a while until I find a new job?" Rita said pitifully, "I just lost my job and I don't have much money now."

Sirius pinched his waist, feeling indescribably happy. This damn woman had caused him so much pain, and now she was finally paying him back.

"How did you get fired from the Daily Prophet?" Harry asked her.

Rita raised her hand again, looked at the mark she had just made, paused for a moment, and smashed her fist on her thigh. "Minister Fudge issued an order not to allow anyone to speak for you. At first, it was because of the so-called 'freedom of speech' that they tolerated me publishing a few articles."

“But you won’t even let me publish the photos!”

"Once the storm was over, they just found a random excuse to fire me and didn't even give me any compensation!"

"Damn the Daily Prophet."

"What picture are you going to print?" Sirius asked her. "Of Harry?"

Rita shook her head: "Of course not, these are the three notes from the Triwizard Tournament. Mr. Dumbledore allowed me to take pictures."

She paused and said, "There are also a few photos I took when I sneaked into the Auror's office. Their deaths were not as exaggerated as they were made up. The most important thing is that they all had the Dark Mark on their arms. This is the most crucial and most important thing."

“They didn’t report it at all!”

"As long as these things are released, it will be clear whether you are threatened, Mr. Potter, right?"

The more she spoke, the angrier her voice became.

"They are all a bunch of hyenas!" Rita cursed.

Sirius coughed twice.

Rita paused, then quickly changed her words: "They are all a bunch of thieves!"

Harry coughed twice.

Rita didn't know about Harry's Animagus, but she knew Lupin's identity as a werewolf, so she quickly changed the subject: "They are all a bunch of troll brains!"

Snape nodded in affirmation of her cursing.

"The reporters have forgotten their consciences and don't care about the facts at all. They just grab some hearsay and make up disgusting rumors!" Rita cursed vigorously, stood up and stepped on the stool. "As reporters, we must always remember to tell the readers the truth!"

Everyone in the room looked at her with strange eyes.

Others may be qualified to say this.

But you... Rita Skeeter, the most famous fraudulent reporter in the wizarding world, how dare you say such words? The people you are scolding are doing the very thing you were best at and did most enthusiastically!

Rita caught their gazes, but she pinched her waist and said confidently: "I am different from them now!"

"I have corrected my mistakes and confidence under the guidance of Mr. Porter. I will be an honest journalist in the future."

Harry said expressionlessly: "You just got on the pirate ship, it's hard to get off again."

Rita's expression and momentum suddenly collapsed, and she sat back silently: "Mr. Potter, you don't have to be so straightforward, at least let me believe in myself."

"If you're looking for a job, I know a good place for you." Arthur touched his chin, thoughtfully.

Rita's eyes sparkled. "Mr. Weasley, thank you so much. Where is it? Which magazine or newspaper?"

"Witch Weekly?"

"Focus on the truth?"

"still……"

Arthur interrupted her enjoyment: "No, it's the devil's advocate."

"Singing a different tune?" Rita's brain seemed to be in a state of paralysis. Her eyes were dull as she searched her mind for a while before she finally managed to pull out the information from the magazine from the cracks.

"The magazine that publishes all these weird things that aren't even news?"

Arthur nodded, not wanting to refute the prefixes she had said.

"I... I don't even think of using them to fertilize my garden." Rita shook her head, her face and body full of resistance.

Arthur said earnestly, "But if you want to publish the things you investigated, such as the photos of the Dark Mark on the Death Eaters, or the photos of the Goblet of Fire spitting out three pieces of paper, I'm afraid this is the only magazine in Great Britain that has the courage to do so."

"Mr. Lovegood is a man of great courage and naive romanticism compared to ordinary people."

In short, he's almost as crazy as Dumbledore.