Chapter 295
one old and one young strolled on the mist-shrouded field, passing between two long rows of tents.
The morning sun shone through the mist and fell on Hoffa's face, making him a little uncomfortable. But despite this, he still has to admit that it is really lively here.
In the fog, there are tents with no end in sight. On the tents are bunches of triangular banners with the flags of Bulgarian National Team and Irish National Team hanging on them. Under the banners, rows of small Mountain pack-like tents, most tents look nothing special. It's the same as muggle's tents, but some of them are very personal. They are obviously tents, but there are chimneys, bell ropes or weather vanes on them, which is very interesting.
The air is filled with the aroma of honeysuckle and gorse. You can see brawny man sitting on the ground and pouring on a printed blanket. Hu hu is asleep, his beard is covered with liquor. Snoring while sleeping, obviously the party had been very late last night.
The heathland is full of clumps of yellow gorse, gleaming in the newborn sun. Accustomed to the clouded soil fifty years ago, suddenly coming to this kind of leisurely place would really refresh him, as if it were a lifetime.
Nicholas Flamel, "See you, it's all your credit."
Hoffa pretended not to hear.
When the two walked to the middle of the First Stage, Nicholas Flamel stopped. There stood a huge tent, which was bigger and gorgeous than all the tents beside it. It is very extravagantly used a lot of striped silk, it looks like a small palace, with a few live peacocks tied to the entrance, and a small fountain.
"This is our place, do you like it?" Nicholas Flamel chuckled.
"It's pompous enough."
Hoffa raised an eyebrow.
If he saw this thing five years ago, he might jump up in surprise. But now, he began to look critically at the tent in front of him. The fountain was too small, the flowers were too mixed, and the few peacocks in front of the door seemed to be in poor spirits.
“Don’t mind, after all, Ali Bashir is a well-known supplier of flying carpets in Arabia.” Nicholas Flamel said: “You still have to do a full set of play.”
" I didn’t say that I didn’t like it, I liked it a lot."
Hoffa took the lead in opening the tent, "Go in."
The tent was extended with Extension Charm, and the space inside was larger than the outside. It's big, three stories high, the floor is covered with very complicated carpets, the all around low-footed red cabinets are filled with peculiar sun and moon metal decorations, there are also some tall teapots, and the coffee tables are as tall as pagodas. Sweets, the air is filled with a scent of milk.
Hoffa looked at this Arab-style tent curiously, picking up a few decorations from time to time and looking at it.
Nicholas Flamel stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror of the tent, turned his head and said to Hoffa tremblingly: "Can you help me, please."
Hoffa put down his hand. The lamp pot with the appearance of Latin Divine Lantern, standing behind Nicholas Flamel, helped him take off his gray cloth coat, revealing his wrinkled and rickety body.
Afterwards, Nicholas Flamel took out a bottle of gray mud-like compound potion from his pocket, raised his hand and swallowed it with a frown.
Grumbling.
The skinny old man covered with age spots in the mirror swelled up like an air. He saw his thin body gradually straighten, and his sparse hair gradually became denser and darker. Finally, he became a Middle Eastern man with black hair and a crooked nose, looking around forty years old.
"Huh...huh..."
The change is over. Nicholas Flamel took a few breaths and shook his head. Potion is resistant to drugs, and it is estimated that it can only last for less than an hour."
Hoffa's eyes floated to the back of Nicholas Flamel's hand. Although his body has become younger, his age spots have not completely disappeared.
Nicholas .Flamel walked to the closet of the tent, picked it up from the inside, and sighed as he picked: "I am old, when Chloe is alive, I should completely go away."
p>"Do you really love her so much?" Hoffa asked, sitting on the carpet, "Your generation difference is so much."
"She was feared by her parents since she was a child because of her bloodline ability. I brought her up. When you have a grandson, you will understand me. If you want me to say, I and her are more like friends."
"You sent her to France?"
"At that time, there was no war. I hoped that God could heal her disease, but it was counterproductive. At least in her body, God did not reveal his mercy."
"Really Is there a God?"
Hoffa sneered and shrugged, and pointed to the top of the tent: "Let me say that Allah, whom these people believe in, does not exist."
"No It must be God. If you use the words in Alchemy, it should be called a higher level existence."
"God?"
"More than just, higher."
"God?"
" p>
Nicholas Flamel put on his clothes and became a businessman wrapped in a tall Arab headscarf and a Baghdad robe with a peacock feather inserted in the headscarf.
"Let's go, I'll take you to Stinchcombe.Crouch."
"I can't go alone," Hoffa muttered.
"hmph, you are so young, no matter how luxurious you are, Crouch will not remember your name, let alone let you enter his tent." Nicholas Flamel shook his head." He is a powerful guy."
After the two went out again, the sun had risen in the sky.
The hostility contained in the strong sunlight made Hoffa a trance, as if everything in front of him was covered with a crystal clear film, and he had to squint his eyes.
Originally, Hoffa wanted to see if he could meet Harry, Ron, Hermione in the Quiddich World Cup, the legendary trio.
But under this kind of sun, he didn't want to watch anything. All he thought about was going back to the tent and sleeping until dark before getting up. But this kind of thought is just thinking about it, he has to go to Barty Jr.. Crouch, time does not allow him to waste.
He took off a branch, transformed it into a pair of sunglasses, put it on his nose, barely blocking the sun, which made it easier.
Nicholas Flamel slowed down and lowered his voice beside him: "It doesn't matter, when I go back this time, I will help you make some potions to suppress the blood race power in your body."
"Let's talk about it later."
Hoffa felt that someone behind him was looking at him, so he looked back, but did not see any familiar silhouette. There are only a few foreign wizards who wake up in the morning to fetch water with a kettle.
Time passed.
The number of people in the camp gradually increased, and many young boys and girls shuttled through the crowd and made noises. There are domestic and foreign ones, speaking in languages that are either understandable or incomprehensible.
Hoffa is a little envious of them.
So young and beautiful, in groups. And his companion is a bad old fogey.
After passing through a tent with photos of Wilktor Krum, he and Nicholas Flamel came to another site. There were a lot fewer tents in this area, and the distance between each other was also very large. .
One of the tents is faintly visible in the jungle. That tent is different from other people's. Although it maintains the shape of the tent, it is not made of cloth, but made of wood. It is like a small house, with some wood chips on the top, doors and windows, and a small garden on the periphery.
There is a yellow path paved with clay and stones in the small garden. The garden is surrounded by a low wall, about three feet high, with a wooden fence on the top of the wall. At the corner of Muzha, there is a brown wooden board and three gilded spheres. The brown wooden board is engraved with the white characters "Stinchcombe.
Nicholas Flamel stood under three gold-plated balls and knocked on the door.
For a while, no one opened the door.
The two stood at the door and looked at each other. Hoffa stepped back and glanced into the window, which was covered with a white gauze. It's like a white cloud on the eyes, making it hard to see what's inside.
But he could detect that someone was standing behind the door, bending over to look at himself vigilantly through the crack of the door, holding wand in his hand, this guy had been standing behind the door for a long time.
Nicholas Flamel, disguised as Ali Bashir, knocked on the door again and asked politely: "Is Mr. Crouch at home? I was recommended by Minister Fudge."
The eyes behind the door were narrowed, and the people in the room slowly backed away, about ten meters away. When the time comes, he said solemnly: "Here."
When he finished, he made the sound of neat and tidy footsteps, came to the door, and opened the door lock with a click.
The middle-aged man behind the door has a short black hair that is combed intact, his waist is straight, his movements are stiff, he wears a spotless, crisp suit and tie. The narrow moustache like a toothbrush immediately reminded Hoffa of Adolf Hitler.
"Ah, hello, hello."
Nicholas Flamel stretched out his hand tremblingly, "Presumably you are Mr. Stinchcombe. Crouch, and I have been admiring for a long time."
>The meticulous man hesitated for a moment, and squeezed Nicholas Flamel's fingertips reservedly: "You are...Ali Bashir? President of Arab Flying Carpet Import and Export Company?"
"It's...under."
Nicholas. Flamel turned his finger, turned out a golden business card and handed it over, "This, this is My nephew and secretary...Horva Bashir."
Stinchcombe.Crouch looked at the card, then looked up at Hoffa, browses tightly frowns, but in the end He still turned sideways with a faintly displeased: "تفضلبالدخول" (please come in)
"شكرا" (thank you)
Nicholas Flamel face doesn't change, with a smile Entered the house.
Hoffa secretly called out that it’s dangerous. Old Barty.Crouch could even speak Arabic. If he didn’t bring Nicholas.Flamel, I’m afraid he would show up before entering the door.
After entering the door, his eyes quickly turned around in the room. In the blink of an eye, he used the powerful spirit strength field to scan the entire room.
This is an old-fashioned three-bedroom apartment with bathroom and kitchen. There is a basement under the kitchen floor, and the entrance to the basement is sealed by magic.
Tom Riddle thought his subordinate Barty Jr. Crouch was locked up in Azkaban, but what he didn’t know was that as early as a year ago, old Barty. Crouch was dying of his wife. I beg Xiao, to use his wife to replace his son, Barty Jr.—Voldemort's loyal servant, from Azkaban. Since then, Barty Jr. has been kept at home.
It was not released until the day of the Quiddich World Cup, and he also played an important role in Goblet of Fire, hiding in Hogwarts, disguised as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher -Mad-Eye Moody.
And he is Hoffa's goal.
"Please sit down."
old Barty .Crouch pointed to the sofa, his eyes kept turning on Hoffa's silver earrings and sunglasses, frowned from time to time.
Nicholas Flamel sat naturally on the chair, fingers crossed on his lower abdomen, Hoffa stood behind him,
"Coffee or tea?" Stinchcombe.Crouch went to the kitchen.
"A glass of water would be fine. Excuse me, Mr. Crouch, forgive me to speak bluntly. Your place is really hard to find."
"Ah, I am privately I prefer quietness and don't like being disturbed." Old Barty.Crouch said faintly.
"It's been very busy these days, world cup." Nicholas Flamel winked at Hoffa, and put it close.
"Fortunately, there are a lot of things in the ministry, but they are all within my scope of responsibility."
"Do you live alone?"
"Yes."
old Barty came out of the kitchen with two glasses of water and handed the glass to Nicholas Flamel, but he ignored Hoffa who was standing behind Flamel.
"Don't find a servant to serve you?" Nicholas Flamel asked "at will" when he took the water glass: "For example, house elf or something? A person in a high position like you, does everything by himself. It must be very tired."
Stinchcombe .Crouch's eyes became a little sharp, "It has nothing to do with you. I heard that you have a trade project to discuss."
He was sitting awkwardly, like a diplomat sitting in the United Nations, but at this moment, Nicholas Flamel, who was disguised as Ali Bashir, rolled his eyes and stopped speaking.
Hoffa hurriedly bent over to take a look, and whispered something bad, but Nicholas Flamel rolled his eyes, a trace of saliva spilled from the corner of his mouth, and the old man was demented again.
He quickly took off his sunglasses, golden eyes turned black, and explained: "Sorry, Director Crouch, my Uncle drank too much wine last night, and I am not in good spirits today."
Looking at the man drooling in front of him, Stinchcombe .Crouch showed an unabashed look of disgust, but when he saw Hoffa's appearance, he was taken aback, frowned and asked, "Are you a graduate of Hogwarts?" "
"No."
Hoffa's heart jumped: "What's wrong?"
"I think too much," Stinchcombe murmured, "You It looks a bit like our house legend."
"Really?"
Hoffa grinned, his face twitched.
He noticed that the decorations in Stinchcombe's Crow's home were more blue, and there were eagle designs in some places.
But Stinchcombe didn’t seem to think much about it. He sat opposite Hoffa with a stale expression: "Since your Uncle is in a bad state, then you can tell. If you are not ready, you can help him away. "
So Hoffa looked upright, said in deadly earnest: "I am here this time to talk to you about the embargo on flying carpets. You also know that in the past few years, between the wizards The exchanges are getting more and more frequent. I hope that Uncle can relax a little bit on this regulation. After all, you have embargoed flying carpets since 1954..."
"No way. "Stinchcombe. Crouch lightly coughed, reserved said: "The bill is the bill, and we really don't plan to introduce magic flying carpets in these years."
"Is this a violation of the International Wizard Free Trade Act? After all, Other countries do business with us decently. You must know that Britain’s broomsticks can also be circulated in the international market."
Hoffa wrangled seriously on one side, and moved his eyes to the back of the kitchen without leaving a trace. He could feel that behind the kitchen bar, there were big horrified eyes and a pair of pricked ears.
Stinchcombe Crouch meticulously said: "It is not that foreign countries do not impose tariffs on our broomstick. Each country is different..."
dong!
Suddenly, there was a muffled noise on the ground and a slight shock. Interrupted Stinchcombe Crouch.
Hoffa pretended to be surprised, and looked around, "What's wrong, something is ringing."
Old Barty. Well, it’s useless for you to find me. The embargo on magic flying carpets is because it is a woven product that is applied magic, but it is easy to be used as a carpet by muggle, and violates the wizard secrecy law, so it cannot be circulated in the country. I’m here in Britain’s own national conditions, Mr. Bashir, my suggestion is to go to Arthur Weatherby from the Department of Prohibition of Misuse of Magic Affairs. If he can lift the secrecy regulations on the magic flying carpet, when the time comes, we will give more details. Talk."
He looked like he was going to see off the guests. Hoffa pretended to have an unpleasant look on his face, but he still helped Nicholas Flamel to stand.
"Thank you for your suggestion."
"You are welcome, I wish you a happy watching."
"So do you."
The two shook hands, then Hoffa helped Nicholas Flamel out of the house.
Coming to the shade of an unremarkable tree, Hoffa grabbed Nicholas. Flamel's shoulders shook it vigorously, "What's the matter, I'm confused if I talk well?"
Nicholas Flamel, who was shaken so hard, was shivered, sober, and after looking around for a few times, he patted his chest: "Ah, I just... fell asleep."
"This is all Being able to fall asleep, I'm worried about whether you can be competent to monitor Voldemort."
"Isn't it that I didn't sleep well last night? I got up at three in the morning."
Nicholas Flamel Muttered: "Don't talk about me first, that Death Eater, Barty Jr. Crouch, who was imprisoned in Azkaban Prison, is really in that tent."
Hoffa slowly nodded: "No Wrong, I'm sure."
Nicholas .Flamel sucked in a breath of cold air, "It's actually there. This little fellow is so brave enough to get his son out."
paused, he asked again: "Then what are you going to do, go find him now?"
Hoffa squinted and looked at the one that had climbed to the center of the sky. Sun, shook the head:
"No, this is not a place to do hands-on, and it is not the time. When the night comes, everyone from the Ministry of Magic is going to watch the game, and we will do it again."
p>