Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 697 Easter 1997

Easter is the last Sunday of March.

Loren sat under a tree by the lake, on a deck chair made of twisted branches.

March is coming to an end, the chill has completely dissipated, the weather is getting warmer, and the spring sunshine is comfortable and gentle, warming the skin. Loren wore only a wizard's robe over his shirt, buttoning only one button to prevent the blouse from being completely open, and he didn't wear a tie, his posture was lazy and casual.

The sunlight shone on the lake, creating a brilliant golden expanse. A gentle breeze rippled the surface, causing the shimmering water to dance and dazzle slightly. He couldn't help but look away and gaze at the shore.

The ancient giant squid just stretched its tentacles out of the water when a Gryffindor freshman cautiously approached and gently touched the suckers on one of the tentacles. The giant squid was not annoyed and responded to the young wizard's greeting by swaying its tip slightly. The crowd cheered.

In a daze, I seemed to see him when he first enrolled as a freshman.

Hermione.

"Um?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to call you."

"..."

Hermione glanced at him, then continued flipping through the journal.

The girl was dressed the same as her, in a standard shirt and a dark black magic robe. She wasn't wearing a tie, but all the buttons were fastened. She sat cross-legged on the grass, with a beautifully printed book in front of her. Her exposed ankles were fair and delicate.

The book cover was coated with a glossy film, its colors vibrant and bright, reflecting sunlight. Unlike other wizarding magazines, the overly elaborate illustrations remained static. It was supposedly printed by Muggle enthusiasts using Muggle technology; it wasn't even a formal association, and its readership was even smaller than that of *The Quibbler*, with only a handful printed each year.

The article that sparked reflections on magical transportation patterns through Apparition has already been published. The little witch has a sample copy sent by the publisher, along with a symbolic payment. Although the amount is meager, Hermione is clearly very happy. She has finished reading the entire article and is now engrossed in doing a 9x9 Sudoku crossword puzzle on the last page of the magazine.

"Heh..."

Loren yawned, listlessly leaned over the girl's shoulder, and watched as she pondered repeatedly before filling the numbers into the grid so that each square and each line contained the numbers 1-9. This logically intricate game gave her a sense of pleasure akin to the satisfaction of an obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Loren watched for a while, then couldn't help but start pointing and commenting:

"Fill in 3 here."

"Fill in 6 here."

"Fill in the corner squares first."

Hermione then turned her head, her beautiful brows furrowing slightly, and stared straight at him.

Loren immediately perked up, his eyebrows shot up, and he yelled, "Write it! Why are you looking at me? I have the answer on my face!"

"..." Hermione closed the book and put it into her pendant. "I don't want to play anymore. I'll save it for next time."

"Next time, and next time, and next time again... There aren't that many next times in life. This class of students is the laziest I've ever taught. Back when we were students..."

Hermione sighed wearily. Although she liked this person, she had to admit that sometimes his voice was too noisy and a bit annoying.

I really don't know where this person heard all this nonsense, just babbling on and on.

She looked up at the man; his eyes blinked occasionally, as if he genuinely found his words amusing, accompanied by inexplicable gestures. Her gaze shifted downwards, landing on his lips, and she leaned forward—

The annoying noise was silenced.

Loren's eyes widened. His first reaction was that the student had interrupted him, and his resolve as an excellent teacher quickly crumbled.

The gentlest thing is that moment when you close your eyes.

The giant squid's tentacles brushed across the water's surface, the sound of the water splashing was crisp and pleasant, and ripples spread outwards.

The slender branches transformed into a reclining chair, which became a swing. The chair was just big enough for two people to sit side by side with their calves hanging naturally on the ground. With a push of their toes, the swing began to sway gently.

"Tell me! Do you genuinely want to kiss me, or do you just want to shut me up?"

"Yes, we have them all."

"Miss Granger, you have a clever way of doing things."

"..."

"You misspoke, it's Miss Granger who has excellent kissing skills."

"Bang!"

……

A bird was chirping softly in the darkness; its voice was clear and somewhat familiar.

"Gurgle?"

"..."

"Coo coo..."

"Fox, be quiet, don't disturb his rest."

Then an elderly man spoke in a low voice, which was hard to hear but gave people a sense of reassurance.

Harry's heart softened suddenly, and he gradually came to his senses. The sounds around him drew closer, and even the passing breeze became clearly audible. He suddenly remembered who the two people speaking were.

"Fox, Dumbledore!"

Harry opened his eyes, sat up in the warm glow of the setting sun, his soft pajamas crumpled, fumbled for his glasses, and saw a finely crafted silver jug ​​emitting smoke. Following the spout, he saw Dumbledore standing by the window, dressed in a greyish-white wizard's robe, his face covered in wrinkles, his crooked nose and silver beard stained golden.

He was somewhat dazed, then came to his senses: "This... sir, I slept all day?"

Dumbledore turned to him as he woke up, his deep blue eyes softening. "I think you were too tired last night. How did you sleep? Did you have a good dream?"

Before Harry could answer, his stomach growled, and he looked away, somewhat embarrassed.

Dumbledore chuckled and said softly, "Here are some biscuits; fill your stomach first."

Harry picked up the tempting butter biscuits on the table, took a small bite, and the sweet aroma tantalized him. His glands under his tongue secreted saliva like crazy. The biscuit pieces softened into a smooth, sandy liquid that flowed into his empty stomach. The carbohydrates and fats brought the most satisfying comfort, and his body responded with the most instinctive pleasure.

"Just a suggestion, nothing more: don't let cookies take up too much space in your stomach. Dinner time is coming up, and I've heard that Easter dinner is very lavish."

"Well……"

Harry nodded in agreement, but still ate seven or eight biscuits, downed a mouthful of hot tea, and let out a satisfied sigh.

"When I was young, I was always like that. I would spend an afternoon playing in the forest and meadows until the sun went down and my stomach started growling. Then I would run home before dinner time. My mother would always scold me a few times, but then, after I begged her, she would give me some food to fill my stomach first..."

A nostalgic look appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. "Sometimes it was candy, sometimes butter cookies, sometimes pies or bread prepared for dinner. If you ask me, those were the most delicious foods I can remember."

Harry didn't know why he was saying these things, so he could only drink his tea in silence.

"I've lived for over a hundred years, Harry, and if I had to choose the happiest and most meaningful time of my life, it would definitely be the years I spent with my family." Dumbledore picked up his teacup and took a sip. "My mother, Ariana… I often think, if I had the chance to bring my family back to life…"

Harry looked up, his eyes sparkling with hope, like an owl waiting for its postage payment.

"Life is beautiful, being with family is beautiful, and it's natural for a child to want to save his mother. I shouldn't and won't stop you," Dumbledore said slowly and gently. "But I hope you can always remain sensible, Harry."

Harry's heart calmed down, and a warm current flowed through him.

"I have many questions, sir."

I will try my best to answer your questions.

Who is the half-blood prince?

You'll find out soon enough, but not now.

"Can I trust him?"

"At least you can completely trust the idea of ​​bringing your mother back to life."

"What is the way to resurrect?"

"This is a very complex magical consciousness, involving many disciplines. To be honest, even I don't know it."

"This...can I...really do this?"

"Follow your heart, Harry."

"..."

Harry suddenly felt a little scared. He thought Dumbledore had lost his mind. How could he let himself decide such a big thing? But he couldn't deny that the idea had taken root in his mind and was growing stronger than the Whomping Willow and the ancient trees in the Forbidden Forest.

He looked up, and the setting sun shone through the window onto his face, into his emerald eyes, its dazzling light brilliant and radiant.

……

The auditorium, Easter dinner.

As the sun completely sank below the horizon, Hogwarts Castle was illuminated by colorful candlelight.

The students sat around the college table, chattering and exchanging Easter eggs. The room was filled with the unique aroma of chocolate. One unlucky guy gave his crush an egg he bought from the Weasley's Joke House. Inside were several squeaking white mice. The girl was so frightened that she screamed that she wanted to break up with him, while the other students who were watching the spectacle laughed uproariously.

The professors in the main seats looked at the young wizards below the stage with smiles on their faces.

Loren and Hermione sat at the back of the Gryffindor table, diagonally opposite Ginny and Ron.

Two familiar figures, one old and one young, walked in through the door. Headmaster Dumbledore headed straight for the main seating area, while Ron quickly waved to Harry, calling out, "Here! Here!"

Harry walked quickly to the middle of the two and sat down.

Ron asked impatiently, "You've been with Dumbledore all day. Did you find something important in Slughorn's memories? Can you defeat Voldemort?"

Harry glanced at Loren not far away, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then stopped himself.

Ron suddenly realized, "I understand, I understand..."

Harry was taken aback by this reaction. What do you understand?

"It's supposed to be a secret, right?" Ron lowered his voice. "Not even us?"

"..."

"Don't bother him."

Ginny pushed his head away and handed Harry an Easter egg, which looked like Mrs. Weasley's work. "Ignore him. I heard from Loren that you didn't sleep well last night. Go back and get some rest after dinner."

Harry looked into her eyes and nodded emphatically, "Yes!"

Ron looked at the two lovey-dovey people, one his best friend and the other his own sister, and felt a little awkward. He couldn't help but reach out and scratch his head.

There were no colorful ribbons, no twelve lush Christmas trees, and the Easter dinner wasn't as lavish as the Christmas dinner. In terms of decorations, it couldn't even compare to the pumpkins and bats of Halloween. However, the dishes and scale of the Easter dinner were more grand than those of Christmas. All the foods associated with Easter were prepared, including Easter specialties like roasted rabbit, stewed lamb, and roasted chicken...

Sir Nicholas and Myrtle led their ghosts in performing their own plays, the stories of which were very much in line with the Easter theme. The main plot was that they wandered the world again in ghost form after their deaths.

Nick's story is a bit old-fashioned. After he dies, he becomes a ghost and wanders back to the castle from the Muggle world. Because of his head that was not completely cut off, he causes a lot of jokes along the way. With appropriate dramatic adaptation, he makes the students laugh out loud.

This time, Myrtle's story doesn't focus on the basilisk anymore. Instead, it tells the story of her after death. After returning to the human world as a ghost, she begins to track down those who mocked and insulted her, especially Oliver Humbell...

The whole story is humorous and lively, with Myrtle combining Oliver Humbell's reactions to being teased to create many laughs.

The Great Hall was filled with the aroma of food and laughter. Except for Harry, who seemed preoccupied, he remained silent throughout the entire dinner, only glancing up at the ghosts during their performance, his eyes sparkling.

After the dinner party, the roommates went on dates, played chess, or strolled around the Astronomy Tower and the common room. Harry returned to his dormitory alone and pulled out the familiar book, "Advanced Potions Making."

Looking at the hastily written words "This book belongs to the Half-Blood Prince" at the bottom of the cover, Harry remained silent for a moment, then picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote his own words with mixed feelings:

"Who are you?"

The ink seeped into the yellowed paper, quickly absorbed, revealing the half-blood prince's reply: "That's not important."

Harry was about to retort and press further when he saw the line of text rearranged:

"You've already met Dumbledore, haven't you?"

"Yes."

Harry's answer was very cautious. This time, the ink was absorbed and rearranged at a slightly slower pace, as if the Half-Blood Prince's will was thinking. Perhaps he was wondering why Dumbledore hadn't intervened.

"Since Dumbledore didn't take back the textbook, it proves that you can trust me, and you can only trust me."

"What is the way to bring my mother back to life?"

"With your empty mind, it's difficult for me to explain it clearly to you."

Harry frowned. How could this textbook be so insulting? He continued writing, "What do I need to do?"

"Wait for me at the school gate now."

Who exactly is the half-blood prince?

What conspiracy lies behind luring me out of the castle in the dead of night?

Could he be a dark wizard or a Death Eater?

As Harry stepped out of the castle hall, these questions still lingered in his mind, but remembering what Dumbledore had said during the day, he ultimately chose to trust the Half-Blood Prince.

The evening breeze, carrying the dampness and coolness of the night, blew against my face, raising goosebumps on my neck. The night was deep, and the crescent moon, not quite full, barely illuminated the path leading to the school gate. Fog rose in the forbidden forest, the greenhouse was pitch black, and Hagrid's hut was lit.

Harry turned around by chance and saw that his shadow was stretched very long.

The school gate wasn't locked, but rather opened a narrow crack. Harry glanced at the winged boar statue, suppressed his increasingly rapid heartbeat, and squeezed through the gate.

Sure enough, a tall figure was waiting by the roadside. Harry looked at the person's face and couldn't help but exclaim in surprise:

"Snape!"

(End of this chapter)