Harry Potter’s Natural Villain

Gabrielle had a dream tonight. In the dream, her sister returned home in the dark, but she hid it from her parents. She gently opened her room and walked to the bed. He kissed his forehead lightly.

The shallow moonlight shone on her face, and there was a charming sense of holiness. Even though she was sleeping, she could feel the warm warmth of her sister's lips.

"Sister!" Gabriel woke up from her sleep, opened her eyes, and her long silver hair like a waterfall fell down her shawl. Only then did she find out through the window that the sun had stuck her head out, exuding soft light.

It is morning.

She didn't even put on her cartoon slippers, changed out of her pajamas, and hurried out of the room.

"Sister came back!"

She said to her parents who were having breakfast.

The family misses her sister very much, and so do her parents, worrying day and night.

Dumbledore repeated over and over that Fleur would be safe, and would even be back with them soon, but it was completely unconvincing.

The "crazy" student might have done something to their daughter.

"Gabrielle, you must be hallucinating." Madam Delacour patted Gabrielle on the head lovingly at the breakfast table. She also missed her daughter very much, but it was too unrealistic.

At this moment, a piece of parchment fell from the chandelier, with black writing on it.

"I'm fine, please don't worry."

Then the parchment turned to ashes in an instant, and lay quietly on the dining table.

"This is my sister's handwriting!" Gabriel said happily, "She must have come back."

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Malfoy Manor was quiet at this time, the water in the fountain stopped flowing, and the proud peacock, who used to be arrogant and used to pacing back and forth, was now hiding in the corner, just like the owner's mood, unwilling to make a sound.

"Narcissa, I have something to inform you." In the living room, Lucius' face was a little heavy.

His wife, Narcissa, was resting on her hands beside a mahogany table at this moment.

"Is it Draco's business?" Narcissa stood up immediately, her haggard expression suddenly became refreshed, but after seeing Lucius' expression, she became more nervous than before.

Lucius' pale face was extremely serious, his eyelids drooped, and the silver snake-headed cane in his hand was tightly held.

"Don't get excited, there is no news from Draco yet, but there is another not so good thing, I hope you can calm down after hearing it." Lucius hesitated a little, and seemed to be wondering whether to inform this matter. her wife.

For her wife, this must be a worse thing.

But he couldn't keep it a secret. Narcissa had the right to know the truth. It was her relatives.

"Your sister, Bellatrix died in Azkaban." Lucius said in a non-emotional tone, as if this would alleviate some of the grief.

Narcissa's already pale face could no longer find a trace of blood at this time, and she asked in a trembling tone:

"Mysterious... Didn't the Dark Lord save his minions?"

"I don't know either." Lucius closed his eyes heavily, "I felt his rage through the Dark Mark, maybe the rescue failed."

All Death Eaters could sense Voldemort's emotions through the Dark Mark. The more pain, the more excited the man was.

"A delivery owl from the Daily Prophet brought me this latest news that Azkaban has collapsed and the prisoners in it have no survivors, all dead."

"I will help her hold a decent funeral. People are already dead. They won't be too embarrassed. Can you tell me?" Lucius put his hand on his wife's blonde hair, stroked slowly, and then Pushed her back to the seat, leaned down and kissed her forehead,

comfort her.

Narcissa nodded and rubbed her slender fingers on her temples, looking very tired. Her relatives were one less in this world.

But this didn't make her feel too sad, the faint melancholy just lingered in her heart, and it was impossible to say the heart-piercing pain.

The two have not been in touch since her sister was locked up in Azkaban.

Time will dilute everything, and in Narcissa's view, her sister's insanity under the torment of the dementor, perhaps relief, is a good thing.

"What about Draco? Is there any news about him?" Narcissa then asked in a panic, for fear of hearing bad news.

What she cares most about now is her son.

"I've already said it, but I haven't." Lucius shook his head, and then he comforted: "No news is the best news."

"No one can catch him except Dumbledore, trust our children." Lucius encouraged.

And the people they are worried about are now embarking on a new journey.

"This direction? Is it Germany?" Furong asked while sitting on the train. At this time, she was looking out the window at the scenery that was receding along the railway line. The vast plain was endless, and the mountains and rivers spread.

After seeing her relatives secretly, Furong seemed to be in a good mood, with an unstoppable smile on her face, which was bright and moving.

The man's wand was in hand, and the final destination was naturally Nurmengard, the place where Grindelwald temporarily lived, and a detention center as famous as Azkaban Prison.

It was in Germany, but the exact location was unknown. They didn't even know whether it was inland or in the sea. Even Dumbledore didn't reveal it to them.

After some renovations at the Deceiver's Bazaar, Malfoy and Fleur finally set off, still using the usual train of transportation.

The destination is Berlin, the capital of Germany.

If you say that France gives people a feeling of laziness full of romance, you can see leisurely and relaxed pedestrians everywhere in the streets and alleys, who love to enjoy life.

Then get off the train, leave the station and enter the city, the first impression of Germany is a strict stereotype. Most of them are in a hurry, but they follow the rules and are meticulous.

Of course, because of propaganda or prejudice, people will have a stereotyped impression of a nation. In fact, there are strict people in France, and there are also careless people in Germany, but in general, Impressions are accurate.

Especially in France, even if a sentence is said, even if ten French people, nine are lazy, that one diligent genius can also drive their progress.

The topic of bias stops here.