I'm Really an Alchemist

Not She who refers to people, but It who refers to non-living things.

The implications behind this are frightening to ponder.

Auror: "The case that happened yesterday can no longer be counted, and its movements are getting bigger and bigger, and it doesn't even hide from us anymore. I think it should be ready."

"Preparation for what?" the investigator asked.

"No one knows," the Auror replied. "The only thing that is certain is that this event will affect the entire wizarding world."

.....

France - Ministry of Magic.

Voldemort frowned slightly as he listened to the Death Eaters' report. The emerald green snake was wrapped around his arm, and the snake hesitated.

Even the Death Eaters were affected by the disappearance of the magic painting.

The main sources of Death Eaters are pure-blood families. The purer the family, the more important it is for glory. In their families, there are portraits of all ancestors throughout the ages.

All these portraits have been handed down for hundreds or thousands of years.

It is a symbol of the long history of the family.

But now, the symbol is gone.

The portrait is left with nothing but a blank frame.

Death Eaters can only turn to their Master for help.

"Take out my oil painting, I want to see what it is, dare to attack me!"

Voldemort ordered grimly, and he made a portrait of himself.

The self in the painting also has his memory and knowledge.

The vampire Death Eaters quickly ushered the portrait into the hall of the Ministry of Magic. Voldemort looked at himself in the portrait. Although it was a little distorted, it was almost the same as his current state.

Voldemort in the portrait is also full of confidence. He holds his wand upside down, and even his smile is as cold and crazy as himself.

Waited for two hours.

The world of the portrait cracked a gap out of thin air, and a majestic suction force was generated from the gap. The complexion of Voldemort in the portrait changed drastically, and he didn't even have a chance to cast magic. It disappeared into the gap like a drawn-out tone.

The Death Eaters and Voldemort outside the portrait hadn't recovered from the shock.

A silver-white ball fell out of the gap.

Boo!

The extremely dazzling white light burst out suddenly, and the little green snake around Voldemort's neck squirmed quickly, covering his eyes.

The other vampires who observed the portrait covered their eyes and howled.

That white light exceeded their carrying capacity, far whiter than all the whites in the world, so white that it exceeded the limit that the eyes could bear.

The light disappeared instantly.

Voldemort got up from his chair in horror. The vampires and Death Eaters around him covered their eyes, screamed and rolled on their stomachs.

And that painting—the painting swallowed by the white light, has become a pure white drawing paper.

Nothing left.

Leave nothing.

It's like mocking his incompetence.

Voldemort's face was blue and purple, he grabbed his wand and smashed the picture frame into pieces, feeling humiliated and scared, the enemy didn't even show his face, and almost hurt him in the portrait.

What kind of enemy is this?

What kind of monster?

.....

"Professor Lupine?" The house elf wearing a chef's hat thought for a while and said timidly: "Our impression of Professor Lupine is that he is very good at eating."

"Very good at eating?" Harry emphasized: "How good at eating?"

The house elf replied: "He never eats in the cafeteria, and each meal is for two people...Professor Lupine said that he eats a lot, and he is not full when he eats in the cafeteria, and he needs extra meals, so it is better to wait Dine in the office!"

The house-elf left, and Harry pursed his lips into silence.

Pay attention to Professor Lupine, he found too many anomalies, and these anomalies existed very early, but they have been ignored by him.

"Harry Potter?" Dobby flapped his ears, looked at Harry pitifully, and said, "Dobby is not in charge of the kitchen, there is only so much that Dobby can help Harry Potter, and Dobby is useless !"

"No, Dobby, you've helped me a lot." Harry murmured, "But I still have to prove it, think rationally, and prove it all!"

He lowered his head and met Dobby's eyes.

"Dobby, can you do me one more favor?" Harry begged.

Dobby nodded immediately, and said softly, "Harry is Dobby's friend, so you can ask Dobby to help you with anything!"

Harry nodded gratefully, and whispered in its ear, "Dobby, when Professor Lupine is having dinner today, you hide in his room and see if he eats two dinners by himself."

"I'll lend you the Invisibility Cloak."

Dobby was very embarrassed. He was a house elf of Hogwarts at the moment, so it was not allowed to do such a thing.

But Harry was Dobby's forever friend.

Dobby wants to protect Harry and help Harry.

It nodded, but said: "Dobby can become invisible. Dobby doesn't need Harry's invisibility cloak. Wait for good news from Dobby!"

After speaking, its figure fluctuated and disappeared into the air.

Harry exhaled slowly, completely absent-minded.

He had believed most of Pettigrew's words, but he still refused to admit in his heart that Professor Lupine, who was gentle, knowledgeable, and always friendly and caring to him, would shield Sirius.

As long as he can deny this, he will take the initiative to admit his mistake to Professor Lupine.

but--

"Harry!"

After dinner, Dobby appeared in front of Harry and told the cruel truth, which made the boy's trust in Lupine slip to the bottom.

"Professor Lupine..." Dobby panted, "There is another person in Professor Lupine's room, Sirius, and Dobby has seen his photo!"

PS:

Eight thousand offerings, please blade!

Chapter 436 Chapter 77 We are special!

No wizard has ever thought about what it means if there is no magic painting in life?

Magic painting, through spells and potions, brings life to a still portrait.

The person in the portrait has the same thinking and memory as the body.

It is not real life.

The dead don't return, only falsehood remains.

But wizards need this falsehood.

Be it deceased relatives or glorious ancestors, wizards don't know that they are false, but seeing the people in the portraits, seeing the familiar tone, memory, and posture, wizards will regard them as real.

As if they never left.

...

London, Ministry of Magic.

Cornelius Fudge was draped in a thick blanket, sitting on a soft sofa, his eyes staring blankly at the flickering fire in the fireplace.

On the wall, the oil paintings that should have been the ministers of the Ministry of Magic were all blank.

These oil paintings are not only symbols, but also the heritage of the Ministry of Magic. Oil paintings have the memory and thinking of the body, and they are the best teachers.

They can give advice to the current Minister of Magic with their rich life experience, they know the truth hidden in history, they know ancient legends, and like the Ministry of Magic, they have gone through a long time.

And these are gone.

The forehead of the Minister of Magic got a little deeper, and he tightened the blanket on his body, feeling the bone-chilling cold in the warm room like spring.

"Minister Fudge!"

The subordinates knocked on the door and entered, panicking and hesitating.

"Report." Cornelius Fudge stared at the firelight, with a deep voice: "How many more cases this time?"

The subordinate turned over the official document in his hand, his face trembled, and his voice trembled.

"Gone."

"Huh?" Minister Fudge turned his head, his eyes widened slightly.

The subordinate grasped the official document tightly, bowed his head and said, "In the British Peninsula, all the magic paintings...all are gone."

Cold sweat broke out on Minister Fudge's forehead. He threw off the blanket, snatched the report form from his subordinates, said impossible, and turned the report at the speed of quantum fluctuation reading.

The cruel facts were unfolded in front of him like cold numbers.

Cornelius Fudge was at a loss, and subconsciously cast his eyes on the oil paintings on the wall—in the past, every time he encountered something he couldn't handle, he always found a solution in the wisdom of his predecessor.

There are only picture frames on the walls, and there are only clear white drawing papers.

He swayed and fell on the sofa chair, hugging his head in pain.

"Minister?" The subordinate said hesitantly, "The Ministry of Magic has received requests for help from all over the country. This matter has had too much impact. What should we do?"

How to do?

Connelly wondered what to do, too.