Hogwarts Study Panel

Chapter 77: Love
The sky outside was already pitch black.

In a spacious and beautiful circular room, various kinds of silverware were displayed. Beside the silverware was a blackened kettle that was still bubbling.

The walls here are covered with portraits of past principals. Although they usually doze off in their frames, today, a lady with long, silver, curly hair in the center couldn't help but speak up:

"Headmaster Albus, you are too cautious... You knocked the sword out of his hand and then placed the letter in his hand."

But my anxious husband, anyone could see, was a pure and kind child.

Dumbledore sat in an armchair, his deep blue eyes distant and unfocused. The water in the kettle boiled and then calmed down, then boiled again.

Dumbledore didn't look up until the raven flew across the sky.

"That's the problem, Principal Delis De Winter. There's never been a trace of hatred in his eyes, and you and I both know how rare that purity is."

Wizards' subconscious reactions cannot be controlled, even in precocious and intelligent children... If a child who can clearly distinguish right from wrong, remain rational under pressure and repression, and always see kindness through anger, meanness, and prejudice cannot be called pure, then purity becomes an empty word.

But how can we face this purity? No amount of light can fill a festering heart, and how many faint candlelights can support a child through a long journey... He was loved, a love that banished all ugliness and resentment. I thought I would never see such great love again.

It is love that makes people resolute and self-disciplined. We all know that it is too easy to be indifferent, and only those with character and courage dare to care about everything the world gives us...

Compared to wizards, magical creatures are always more perceptive; even the slightest malice will make them flinch. Yet that child was always surrounded by people—don't you understand? Dear Headmistress Delis de Winter, that love must have vanished, for only dead love can give rise to such tenderness.

There are too many lessons that tell us what is wrong. Yes, for a child who has lost all support and is determined to rely solely on himself and the amazing talent he has shown, I can only think of that lesson from fifty years ago that I deeply regret.

We should recognize that such a child is resolute, yet also unsettling. Because that dead love has taken him away from the world, I can't imagine what place he has left in it. His lack of resentment doesn't mean he won't be disappointed; his lack of anger doesn't mean he isn't filled with resentment. When the remaining love has vanished completely, when he is strong enough, what will he still care about?

First and foremost, we must be kind—this is of utmost importance—and then, upright. I dare not presume to guide or distort the life of a child who possesses both talent and kindness; my arrogance in this regard has already taught me a painful lesson. But what should we do, dear Principal Delis de Winter? Should we allow this child to face the cold and harsh world alone, silently swallowing everything and gradually losing our love?

If there is any answer to this, it is to entrust everything to the greatest magic. The greatest, most mysterious, and most profound love will truly bring him into this world. It is love that can gently reach a nearly closed heart, making it willing to open up to the world again. All we need to do is use enough patience and kindness to stir that cautious soul.

Only with such great magic could he find his place, and still be willing—in a gentle way—to live within it.

……

Weekends at Hogwarts are a mix of laziness and tension, because after two days of carefree fun, the young wizards are about to sadly face their homework again.

For the young wizards who finish their assignments early, they can enjoy interesting events in addition to the beautiful castle scenery, such as two young wizards fighting over a notebook.

However, Sheehan paid no attention to these things. He spent the entire morning of Sunday reading "Standard Spells: Level Six" and searching for Professor Flitwick.

However, the final result was not satisfactory; the professor seemed to have left.

As they passed a portrait, the fat lady kindly came over and told Sheehan that Professor Flitwick was probably too drunk to walk at the Three Broomsticks.

Before I knew it, it was Monday.

Sheen's first Charms class in the morning was with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

Between the two seats, Professor Flitwick waved his wand from the pile of books, causing Neville's toad to fly around the classroom.

The young wizards' excitement was immediately ignited, and they were divided into pairs by the professor to practice. "Pronouncing the spell correctly is very important—don't forget the wizard Balfio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself lying on the floor with a bison standing on his chest..."

Professor Flitwick's voice echoed in the classroom for quite a while.

Even with the professor's explanation, it is still very difficult to do.

Simo waved and shook his hand repeatedly, but the feather that should have been sent into the air remained motionless on the floor.

In a fit of anger, Seamus poked the feather with his wand, and the feather caught fire—luckily, Sheen took the opportunity to extinguish the fire with the Clear Water Spell.

Sudden--

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

A feather floated up, trembling slightly.

"cool--"

When everyone turned their attention to that direction, their eyes widened in surprise.

"Longbotton?!"

"Is it that Longbottom?"

"Oh my God!"

Neville's face turned bright red as he listened to the whispers around him.

"Oh, that's wonderful!"

Professor Flitwick clapped his hands and shouted,
"Look, everyone! Mr. Longbottom did it! I'm going to add three points to Gryffindor's tally!"

Neville's face turned even redder, and his hands began to tremble.

Before get out of class ends.

Professor Flitwick called out to Neville, and before he could speak, Neville tremblingly blurted out everything:

“It was Mr. Green who taught me, Professor, notes, yes, notes… If it weren’t for Mr. Green, I wouldn’t have learned anything… It’s all Mr. Green…”

He finished speaking, trembling, and then saw Professor Flitwick take the notebook as if he had heard something particularly gratifying, his mustache twitching at the same time:

“Of course, of course, Mr. Green is certainly a very talented wizard, but—”

The professor gently patted Mr. Longbottom on the shoulder as he crouched down.

“Mr. Longbottom, you are no less so.”

(End of this chapter)