Hogwarts: A Chinese-Style Professor

Chapter 311 Sirius's Little World
Harry's Invisibility Cloak has been borrowed again.

This time, it was Dumbledore who borrowed it.

Despite having so much homework he wanted to die from, and with only two months left to prepare for the Duel Tower, Harry was still curious about this matter.

Because he instinctively felt that whether it was Dumbledore borrowing this time or Professor Livy borrowing last time, the two were essentially talking about the same thing.

From this point, Harry began to wonder about something else—was there anything special about the invisibility cloak his father had left him?
Even figures like Dumbledore and Professor Levy need to be temporarily borrowed?

He told Hermione and Ron about his discovery, but neither of them seemed very interested, although they maintained a certain level of politeness on the surface.

Hermione was very depressed—she had made up her mind to drop two relatively unimportant courses after she got through the semester.

For example, divination classes and Muggle studies.

Taking all courses at the same time and aiming for an 'O' is indeed an incredibly crazy move.

Although Hermione longed to replicate Percy's feat of getting 13 'O's, the situation was different then—the difficulty and workload of the coursework had increased dramatically since Professor Levy arrived.

Moreover, she also needs to pay attention to things at the Duel Tower, and she simply can't allocate her energy to everything.

Not to mention, Hermione is quite popular among girls these days, and occasionally replying to messages on the Bible takes up a lot of her energy.

Therefore, she no longer possesses the vitality of a Gryffindor.
“Harry, I think you’re overthinking it—maybe you should focus your energy on the Duel Tower—we still haven’t caught up with Seamus’s score.”

"Brother, this should just be a coincidence—perhaps you could ask Sirius?"
In short, the cloak your father left you is indeed a valuable item; it actually helped us deceive Professor Levi.

After listening to the two of them, Harry thought for a while and then said helplessly, "Okay."

Hermione is right; he should focus his energy on the Duel Tower now—he's determined to be number one in his third year, no matter what.

After a quick meal, Harry headed to the Duel Tower as usual.

However, instead of using the treasure book to match duels, he went to the twenty-first floor where the administrator was located.

The tallest floor in the Duel Tower is currently the twentieth floor, but Sirius Black insists on placing his office at the very top.

Fortunately, after mastering the Instant Step spell, climbing stairs became an extremely easy task for Harry.

He simply touched the ground with his toes, and the magic emanating from his feet carried him effortlessly between floors.

As Harry ascended the spiraling staircase, he subconsciously began to think about other things.

In his first year, he saw the terrifying face behind Professor Quirrell: Voldemort.
Harry saw his spirit roar as it departed—but was he really dead?
Why did Professor Dumbledore's expression look so subtle? Why didn't I ask him about everything back then?
Harry touched the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The scar hadn't hurt for two years, so it must really be over, right?
Strange, why am I thinking about these things today? Is it because Professor Levi and Principal Dumbledore both came to him to borrow the Invisibility Cloak?

Yes, if they borrowed the Invisibility Cloak to deal with Voldemort, then everything makes sense.
Harry, his mind racing with wild guesses, arrived at Sirius's office.

Other students weren't allowed to come here; this place was considered Harry and Sirius's secret hut—although this privilege made him feel somewhat embarrassed.

Harry pushed open the door and saw Sirius lying on the old, dark red sofa.

Before him was a low coffee table piled high with Honeydukes candy wrappers, several empty Butterbeer bottles, and an abstract sculpture made of Golden Snitch, a worn-out Walking Ball, and a few bronze Nutters.

Sirius Black.

Harry greeted them, turning his head to look at the memory wall on his left—he couldn't help but look at it every time he entered this room.

The memory wall is covered with animated photos and newspaper clippings.

The most striking feature is several large photographs:

The four raiders from their teenage years laughed heartily, arms around each other's shoulders.

The moment James Potter successfully caught the Golden Snitch.

There's also a recent photo of Sirius ruffling Harry's hair, the two of them looking a little awkward but genuinely smiling at the camera. "Harry, you're here?"

Sirius Black was wearing a slightly wrinkled dark gray shirt. When he saw Harry, the serious and world-weary expression on his face disappeared, and his eyebrows and eyes lit up with a little interest.

"Look at this little Hufflepuff girl—she used the Misty Clouds spell to hide and then followed up with the Leg Locking Spell. Her tactical approach was not bad, but unfortunately, the connection between the spells was problematic, and there were too many openings."

His comments sounded less like criticism and more like he was having fun.

"Yes—her spells aren't fluent enough yet."

Harry sat beside Sirius, watching the live broadcast of the duel on various screens.

Before Sirius Black discussed the duel further with him, he took the initiative to say:
"I came to see you today to ask about something else."

"Oh—what do you want to ask?"

Sirius sat up from the sofa and looked intently at Harry.

"Harry Potter, would you like some juice?"

Dobby, the house-elf, wearing an oversized shirt similar to Sirius Black's, spoke to Harry.

"Okay—grape juice, please—thank you, Dobby."

"Being able to serve Harry Potter is the happiest thing for Dobby."

Dobby left happily.

A moment later, he brought out a glass of grape juice, only to disappear again in the next second.

Faintly, the two present seemed to hear an argument coming from afar—"Serving Master Harry is Kreacher's job, why are you taking my job?"

"Never mind them—what do you want to say?"

Sirius chuckled as he snapped out of his reverie and looked at Harry.

"Oh—I wanted to ask about my father."

Harry put his hands together, leaned forward, and said:

"I want to know the origin of the cloak that my father left me."

You mean the Grim Reaper's cloak?

"The Death Cloak?" Harry paused for a moment.

"Yes—the Death Cloak."

Sirius seemed to have thought of something, and his expression visibly became excited.

“You know what, Harry? There are at least hundreds of invisibility cloaks in the wizarding world, but only your father’s is the most effective!”

"Why?" Harry asked in surprise when he first heard the news.

At the same time, he felt an uncontrollable surge of happiness.

Indeed, his father was a remarkable person.

"This has a very interesting backstory. That cloak is called the Death Cloak, and it was passed down from your father's ancestors."

As Harry listened to Sirius recount his past, a thought popped into his head.

The professors must have borrowed the Grim Reaper's cloak to deal with Voldemort!
(End of this chapter)