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Unfortunately, the gentleman in someone's mind seemed to be in a bit of trouble.
"What? Is the Savior preparing to cause a ruckus in Diagon Alley, ready to avenge your good friend?" Malfoy asked, looking at the black-haired boy in front of him. The lightning-shaped scar on the boy's forehead indicated his identity. After half the summer vacation, both had grown taller, but there weren't any significant changes overall.
On the wide street, Harry blocked Malfoy's path, staring at him warily, afraid of any sudden movements, and then said calmly, "You've already received the punishment you deserve and paid the price for it."
"And it looks like I can't beat you either," Harry added, seemingly showing weakness.
"But," Harry looked at Malfoy with his firm gaze, then tightly gripped his holly wand and continued, "If you have any other schemes, I will definitely try my best to stop them."
"Like what?" This time, Malfoy really felt a bit helpless, feeling like he was being shot even while lying down.
"Why did you give a false name at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour just now?"
"Oh, so even the famous Harry Potter likes to eavesdrop?" Malfoy finally realized, then deliberately looked away from Harry and began to fiddle with his wand, his focused appearance making Harry feel a hint of contempt.
"I just..." Harry wanted to explain that it was because he was writing a paper on medieval witches in the shop, and the owner would occasionally give him guidance, whose knowledge in that area was said to be richer than Professor Binns, and there were also free cold drinks every half hour.
However, Harry's words were interrupted by Malfoy.
"You want to explain? Have you ever seen a playboy who leaves trouble for himself?" Malfoy retorted, then cast his indifferent gaze at Harry and said, "I think our Savior should think more about how to save his own life. It's said that Black escaped from Azkaban for you."
Malfoy intimidated him with a veiled threat, and in fact, Malfoy wasn't wrong, but no one would understand it that way.
Yes, risking his life to watch a Quidditch match for his godson, and sending a new Firebolt after the broom broke.
"Besides, the person who inflated his aunt, dares to cast spells outside of school again?" Malfoy glanced at the wand in Harry's hand, "I think even the Ministry of Magic, in order to protect your safety, won't indulge such behavior again and again."
Malfoy said provocatively, as if specifically to anger him and force him to make a move.
Harry thought that even Malfoy had his wand confiscated before for casting spells outside of school, and he couldn't help but hesitate.
Before, he at least had his wand in hand, and that's why he had the courage to run away from home. This was his last reliance. He couldn't imagine what to do if he was really expelled and his wand was confiscated.
Fudge had also told him at the Leaky Cauldron that the reason he wasn't being prosecuted was because Black had escaped from Azkaban, and he had chosen the lesser of two evils, which was why he was let off the hook.
Now, the already insufficient evidence and the serious consequences made him even more hesitant.
Yes, what's the big deal about giving a false name? He had impersonated Neville before, so what about that? Harry suddenly thought that he had also given a false name on the Knight Bus because he was afraid of being recognized, so does that mean he was also a suspect?
Harry increasingly felt that this was a wrong decision made in the heat of the moment.
To take a step back, even if Malfoy really had a conspiracy, wouldn't his blatant accusation be a way of alerting the enemy?
Harry felt that he might have been too repressed these past few days, which was why he had done something so rash.
"I'm sorry," Harry said with a hint of apology, then put away his wand and prepared to leave, but as he walked towards the Leaky Cauldron, passing by Malfoy, he still said in a deep voice.
"Even without telling your name, a playboy will eventually run into trouble," Harry left behind this curse that wasn't really a curse.
Malfoy naturally didn't care. He wasn't the kind of emotional swindler who played with girls' feelings. This was just a response to create a bad impression in front of someone.
However, neither of them would have thought that the second half of this sentence would come true a few years later.
After sending away a protagonist bursting with a sense of justice, Malfoy remembered that he still had something to do, so he hurried back to Gringotts. At this time, the Gringotts gate was tightly closed, cold and deserted, with none of the previous lively scene, and only a few Ministry of Magic officials were on duty.
"Uncle Fudge left a folder in the office and asked me to pick it up for him," Malfoy said politely to a tall, thin man in a trench coat with some stubble. The other guards exchanged glances, feeling a little embarrassed.
However, the slight embarrassment was quickly dispelled by a few packs of so-called Muggle-specific cigarettes.
Only a few minutes passed between entering and exiting, but when Malfoy came out, he could already see the guards on duty starting to smoke in place.
No lighter? A slightly weaker Incendio would suffice.
"Thank you, Uncle," Malfoy didn't forget to thank them as he left.
"It's nothing," the tall, thin man in the trench coat took a satisfied puff of his cigarette, then slowly exhaled a few thin smoke rings and said, "Be careful on your way, Master Draco."
"Mm," Malfoy nodded, then walked without looking back to the nearest Floo Powder station, thinking, "Successful street bribery, Ministry of Magic officials slacking off on duty, encountering Voldemort biding his time and cult members who are at least fanatical."
"Who will win?" He asked a question with an obvious answer.
Walking into a shop that provided Floo Powder service, Malfoy threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, and a green flame spurted up. After clearly stating his destination, Malfoy took a deep breath and stepped into it. Then, an invisible force surged towards him, constantly tearing at his body. He felt the world begin to spin, and even with his eyes closed, the unstoppable nausea and vomiting still attacked him.
"Luckily, I didn't eat too much just now," Malfoy thought thankfully.
Now he was in a Muggle downtown area, a hidden transfer station between the wizarding and Muggle societies. On the surface, it was a small hardware store. A burly middle-aged man with a full beard was fiddling with a wrench on the counter. No one would think at first glance that he was a wizard. The counter was filled with various wrenches, screws, and parts. The strong smell of paint and plastic filled the entire store, which made Malfoy subconsciously cover his mouth and nose.
The man exposed his muscular upper body, and his left arm was tattooed with the shape of an unknown animal. At first glance, he looked like a member of some Muggle underworld organization, but that's just what he looked like. The wand behind him still exposed his wizarding identity.
Malfoy walked towards him, and the man seemed to notice, looking up at him and saying, "Young man, there's nothing here that wizards are interested in."
"I guess not," Malfoy knocked on the glass counter, making a crisp sound. Then he asked, "Actually, I just wanted to ask which nearby fruit store is closer?"
"I think I can help you with that," the man showed a kind smile on his face that was very different from his image, expressing his goodwill.
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