"Thank you, Mr. Hols."
Faced with Mr. Hols's offer of a ride, Harry didn't decline but readily agreed.
On one hand, there was really no need to be polite with good friends.
Being too polite would be treating good friends as outsiders.
On the other hand, he didn't want to see a gentle, kind woman beco sad.
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge always liked to tell Harry "you know ," but in reality, Harry didn't know him at all.
The people Harry truly understood were the Hols and Weasley family.
He knew very well that if he refused in this situation, Mrs. Hols would definitely be upset.
Sure enough, seeing Harry readily agree, Mrs. Hols's regret over Harry not being able to visit them this holiday was sowhat alleviated.
As a pure-blood wizard, Sirius was different from Mr. Weasley, who was also pure-blood.
Mr. Weasley would get excited seeing Muggle cars, and after getting in would touch this, look at that, and ask many questions.
After getting in the car, however, Sirius appeared elegant, calm, and composed.
Sitting in the passenger seat, he'd originally planned to give Mr. Hols directions, but unexpectedly, Mr. Hols knew the location of Grimmauld Place even better than he did, and directly chose a shortcut he didn't even know about to get there.
This area was located in northwest London, in a Muggle neighborhood.
It was only about a twenty-minute walk from King's Cross Station, even closer than Sherlock's ho. In the London area, it was pri real estate.
Because of this, if there were no traffic, it should only take five or six minutes by car.
Unfortunately, it was impossible not to have traffic in central London.
So, by the ti they reached their destination, ten minutes had already passed.
When Mr. Hols parked the car, all five people got out.
Sirius pointed at the row of townhouses before them and said to the Hols family of three:
"This is it, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, this house has been vacant for a long ti and isn't suitable for receiving guests yet, so I won't invite you in."
Hearing Sirius's explanation, Mrs. Hols nodded: "Not at all, Mr. Black and Harry have been reunited after so long, you should certainly spend quality ti together."
Mr. Hols glanced at the row of townhouses again and paused slightly.
However, this surprise flashed by in an instant, and apart from Sherlock, no one else noticed.
Sherlock observed his father's expression, then studied the surrounding crowd for a mont, and imdiately understood.
"Violet is right, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future. We don't live far from here, we can co over anyti."
Mr. Hols said.
Mrs. Hols also turned to Harry: "Harry, you can co over anyti. You know how to get to our house."
Harry nodded emphatically. At this mont, he once again deeply felt the kindness the Hols couple showed him.
He'd already decided that once he got this place cleaned up, he'd have Sirius invite all his friends over for a party.
When Dudley used to do this, he'd been so envious.
Unfortunately, back then he had neither friends nor a ho.
Now that he had such conditions, he definitely had to try it.
As for the house not being cleaned, that wasn't a problem for him at all.
During his years with the Dursleys, he hadn't learned much else, but he'd certainly done plenty of cleaning and scrubbing.
Though this house before him did indeed look very large and spacious, given a week, ten days at most he could definitely get it spick and span.
Just then, Sirius's words interrupted his thoughts.
"Harry, your good friend's parents are really kind to you!"
"Yes, they've really treated like another son."
Hearing Harry's words, Sirius smiled.
"That reminds of sothing from the past. When I was sixteen, I left here and moved in with your father."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise.
"That was such a happy ti, the Potters treated like a second son, just like your friend's parents treat you."
Hearing this, Harry couldn't help but puff out his chest with pride.
The similar experience made him feel the distance between himself and his godfather had closed considerably.
"Speaking of which, not only are they very good to you, that father is quite a remarkable Muggle!"
Sirius said with considerable emotion, "Especially compared to your other Muggle-born friend Hermione, he's much more perceptive than that dentist."
Hearing Sirius say this, Harry wasn't surprised at all.
Although Sherlock always emphasized that with proper training, others could do what he did.
However, Harry knew in his heart that having natural talent and not having it made a difference.
No matter how much others trained, they couldn't reach the level of Sherlock and Mycroft.
To have raised sons like Mycroft and Sherlock, how could he be an ordinary person?
But he was more curious about sothing else.
"Godfather, how did you figure that out? Today was your first ti eting them, wasn't it?"
"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."
Hearing Harry's form of address, Sirius showed a gratified smile, then pointed forward, gesturing for Harry to look.
"This is a Muggle neighborhood, but Muggles can't see this house.
They've even grown accustod to the ridiculous error of Number Eleven Grimmauld Place being next to Number Thirteen."
With Sirius's explanation, Harry finally realized: "So, in Muggles' eyes, there's nothing here, like the Leaky Cauldron?"
"Exactly. My mother Walburga used to be the owner here. When she lived here, she detested anyone who wasn't pure-blood setting foot in her house.
My father used all the secrecy asures known to the wizarding world, so this house can't be plotted on any map, and nearby Muggles can't possibly co calling as if anyone would want to."
Sirius said with a cold laugh:
"If it weren't for you, Harry, I never imagined I'd return here one day.
But though this place is dreadful, at least it can provide us with a place to stay.
Besides, it's very close to your good friend's house, so I suppose it's the only contribution the Black family can make to you."
Feeling the deep disgust in Sirius's tone, Harry didn't know what to say for a mont.
"But when I just ntioned Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, that Mr. Hols's reaction was quite interesting."
Just then, Sirius changed the subject and returned to discussing Mr. Hols.
"As a Muggle, he should have been very surprised."
"Should I have appeared more surprised, for a Muggle?"
On the drive back to Kensington-Chelsea, Mr. Hols found what he'd just seen quite interesting:
"As far as I know, no one has ever found it strange that Number Eleven and Thirteen Grimmauld Place are right next to each other. This is clearly an unreasonable thing, yet they all seem to have gotten used to it.
Even before you entered that magic school, I'd never thought about it either.
It wasn't until Mr. Black ntioned it just now that I realized this is probably like the Leaky Cauldron, enchanted with magic to prevent us from discovering it, right?"
"Yes, there's clearly magic cast on that place. But Dad, there's no need to deliberately pretend not to know. If you've noticed, you've noticed."
"Right, I didn't notice just now that it was Number Eleven next to Thirteen, there was no Number Twelve at all."
Compared to the Hols father and son, Mrs. Hols sitting in the back seat was sowhat slower to respond.
Only now, hearing her husband and son discuss it, did she realize this.
The Hols father and son couldn't help but smile simultaneously.
"Father, I think you've already identified Harry's godfather's identity, haven't you?"
"Yes, Sirius Black. The na and appearance match, the fugitive from before the school year started."
"What?"
Hearing the conversation between her husband and son, Mrs. Hols imdiately beca agitated.
"How can you let a fugitive be Harry's godfather? No way! Absolutely not!
Tarquin, let's turn the car around right now and pick Harry up!"
"Calm down, Violet."
Facing his excited wife, Mr. Hols didn't even turn his head as he skillfully began to persuade her:
"Since both Sherlock and Harry accept this Mr. Black, there must have been a misunderstanding about what happened before, I noticed his wanted poster has also been withdrawn."
"Exactly. The wizarding world misunderstood Harry's godfather, thinking he was the killer of Harry's parents."
Sherlock said briefly, "The real killer is soone else. He was wrongly accused all along."
"Just as I thought."
Mr. Hols nodded and continued his persuasion,
"Violet, I think you could also sense that Mr. Black's love for Harry is genuine. That kind of feeling simply can't be faked."
Hearing her husband and son's explanations, Mrs. Hols thought for a mont and finally felt relieved.
Just as her husband said, the look of love in soone's eyes couldn't be hidden.
Though their eting had been brief, one could indeed see that Sirius's feelings for Harry were sincere and pure.
"As long as he truly cares for Harry, that's what matters."
"There's no doubt about that, Mom."
"Sherlock, tell your mother and this story.
I really want to know why soone like Harry's godfather would beco a criminal wanted by both the wizarding world and the Muggle world.
And how you helped clear his na, I assu the person who discovered the truth was you, wasn't it?"
"Indeed, it was."
Sherlock said proudly, "It all begins from twelve years ago—"
By the ti Sherlock finished explaining the whole affair to his parents, they had arrived ho.
"What a twisting, dramatic story," Mr. Hols remarked. "You did a good thing, Sherlock."
"That Peter person is truly evil!"
Compared to the calm Mr. Hols, Mrs. Hols was furious.
Betraying friends, making a friend's child an orphan, and killing so many innocent people.
"How can there be such evil people in this world?"
Father and son looked at each other.
There were plenty of people even worse than that; she just hadn't encountered them.
Or rather, Mrs. Hols had been too well protected.
Mr. Hols comforted her for a while before Mrs. Hols finally cald down.
Sherlock looked around the house and said, "Mycroft hasn't been back at all during this ti?"
"It's been like this ever since he started working. He spends more ti away than at ho, often staying out all night. Sotis he doesn't co ho even once a month."
Mrs. Hols looked sowhat worried. "He says he can't tell us what he does."
"But he should co ho and stay for a few days around Christmas."
Mr. Hols said, "Then you two brothers will be able to see each other."
"I look forward to it very much."
Sherlock said as much.
Christmas Eve, the night before Christmas.
Kensington-Chelsea was enveloped in a soft, expectant stillness. Street lamps illuminated the sparse falling snowflakes, and every household's windows glowed with warm light.
The Hols house was no exception.
The firewood in the fireplace crackled, the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room was fully decorated, and the dining room was filled with an enticing aroma, Mrs. Hols's specially prepared Christmas dinner for the family.
At this mont, she was carefully checking the table settings, her eyes occasionally glancing toward the door, her face showing a mixture of joy and slight anxiety.
Mr. Hols sat in his usual armchair reading, his expression was much calr than his wife's.
Sherlock sat on the sofa, seemingly staring absent-mindedly at the flas in the fireplace, but was actually thinking about connecting their ho fireplace to the Floo Network.
Strictly speaking, Muggle fireplaces shouldn't be connected to the network.
However, a few days ago at the station, Mr. Weasley had specifically ntioned this to him and Hermione.
He had a very useful contact in the Floo Network Managent Group who could handle everything.
Speaking of the Floo Network Managent Group, Sherlock couldn't help but recall a case from their first year Easter holiday.
Cho Chang's eye shadow theft case.
The criminal he'd exposed at the ti was Cho Chang's then-roommate, Marietta.
Because of this incident, Marietta had beco estranged from her other roommates.
But her mother, Mrs. Edgecombe, worked in the Floo Network Authority at the Departnt of Magical Transportation.
So, Hermione had pointed this out at the station at the ti—once she learned of this matter, she might very well use the opportunity to question Mr. Weasley.
This naturally surprised Mr. Weasley sowhat, but he still patted his chest and guaranteed that this matter would be no problem.
Just then, the crisp sound of the doorbell interrupted Sherlock's contemplation.
"Thank heavens, he's here!"
Mrs. Hols imdiately put down the plate in her hand and hurried toward the entrance.
Mr. Hols closed his book, the corner of his mouth slightly upturned.
Sherlock also raised his head, his sharp gaze directed toward the doorway.
The sound of the door opening ca from the entrance along with the subtle sound of cold air rushing in, and Mrs. Hols's joyful voice rang out:
"Mycroft! Thank God, you're finally ho safely, it's cold outside, isn't it? You've co at just the right ti. I've just finished preparing dinner."
"Mother, rry Christmas, the car's heating was sufficient. It's not cold."
A deep, calm voice responded, sounding nothing like a young man in his early twenties.
Soon, the eldest son of the Hols family, Mycroft Hols appeared at the living room entrance together with Mrs. Hols.
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