Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 728 Crook Hill: ?

The candle flame, like an illusory light source, floated silently in mid-air. Harry opened his eyes wide and carefully observed his memories. In a few short seconds, the somewhat hazy and distorted images in his memories gradually zoomed in, as if a filter had been peeled away.

The flickering candlelight stabilized, burning quietly in the air. Vibrant colors spread rapidly along the outlines of objects, giving the scene a realistic texture. Sounds were no longer ethereal, and memories that had been somewhat blurred by the passage of time suddenly became clear, as if experiencing them once again.

Within his own memory, Harry's perception materialized a phantom figure, more transparent than a ghost, undetectable to anyone in his memory.

"Lisa Dupin!"

"Ravenclaw!"

Professor McGonagall's voice and the Sorting Hat echoed throughout the Great Hall. The cheers from Ravenclaw were cautious and restrained. The face of the girl in his class was familiar; he had met her in many classes. Only now did Harry realize that he remembered her full name.

Harry composed himself, shutting out the surrounding noise, and looked toward the main seating area.

Dumbledore sat in the central seat, his silver hair and beard gleaming slightly. Professor Snape, dressed in black robes, always kept his deep gaze fixed on the Gryffindor table, only looking away when the bespectacled boy with the scar on his forehead looked up. Harry, who once couldn't understand it, now understood that look after seven years.

Next to him was Professor Quirrell, his face unusually pale, with a conspicuously heavy purple scarf wrapped around his head, making him look very strange.

Is Voldemort's weak and powerless spirit hidden beneath that headscarf?

Harry had a vague realization, and a thought suddenly flashed through his mind. After a few seconds of thought, he got up and walked towards the main seat almost without hesitation.

With Blaise Sabine sorted into Slytherin, the Sorting Ceremony was officially over. Professor McGonagall stepped forward to collect the Sorting Hat, brushing past Harry's illusory form. Her swaying skirt passed right through his body, reminding him once again that this was just a scene from his memory, and that he was not here seven years later.

The sounds of metal cutlery clinking, glasses clattering, professors whispering, and Dumbledore's seemingly mad pronouncements filled the air... Harry's ethereal body traversed the steps, passed the long table laden with delicacies, and arrived before Quirinus Quirrell.

Harry stared at the turban wrapped tightly around his head. He was certain that he hadn't smelled Professor Quirrell's stench during the Sorting Ceremony, but now he could smell it clearly. He didn't know if it was based on his later memories or if the smell actually existed in the real scene but he had simply overlooked it back then.

A nauseating stench wafted out, like garlic mixed with onions soaked in Hagrid's boots, fermenting for years. Several professors nearby kept their distance, and Professor Flitwick had his head buried so his expression was obscured.

Harry tried to lift the tangled headscarf, but the illusory body simply passed right through him, and his fingers felt nothing at all.

Things from memory, of course, cannot be touched.

"..."

Harry bent down to look at Quirrell's face. The professor always kept his head down, looking timid and hesitant, as if he dared not make eye contact with anyone. No one would have thought that this former outstanding graduate of Hogwarts, a professor of Muggle Studies, would go to Albania alone in pursuit of power, only to be controlled by Voldemort and become a puppet, returning to the school to plot for the Philosopher's Stone.

If I remember correctly, Voldemort is currently observing Hogwarts through Quirrell's senses.

Those eyes were dark with thin edges, like a hazy membrane. Harry inexplicably thought of the third eyelid of amphibians, also known as the nictitating membrane, which separates the eyeball from the real world but does not prevent peeping from behind.

Behind that hazy darkness, something indescribable seemed to be floating.

Harry took a deep breath. Although he knew it was just a replay of a memory, he instinctively stared into those eyes and used Legilimency when he realized Voldemort's ghost was so close...

But his magic followed his gaze and only touched a blank space, a cold blank space.

The sounds of the opening banquet continued, the clinking of glasses producing a crisp, melodious sound. Harry's consciousness rose rapidly, as if emerging from the depths of the Black Lake, his awareness surfacing and returning to that hazy space of memory. Fragments of memories floated nearby like bubbles, light and shadow shifting, the scene blurred.

A few thoughts flashed through Harry's mind, and he seemed to have grasped something, but as he thought about them carefully, those thoughts quickly slipped away from his mind, leaving only a feeling of loss.

Sinking back into the sea of ​​memories, he consciously searched for the scenes where Voldemort appeared, the night he discovered the unicorn's carcass in the Forbidden Forest, the adventure of guarding the Philosopher's Stone that year... but he still couldn't find the answers.

After struggling until late at night, I finally fell into a deep sleep, completely exhausted.

……

It was early morning in mid-July.

The villa district of Hampstead on the outskirts of the city is quiet, far from major roads, with each house spaced far apart, and there is no noisy car horn even on weekdays.

The bed's orientation has been changed, so now the sun only shines on his bottom, not his eyes. Loren stayed in bed, feeling like he could sleep for several more five-minute periods.

Besides, the sun hasn't even hit our bottoms yet.

The whole house was quiet. The owl had gone out to play last night and hadn't come back yet. Grandpa Bates had left very early.

It is said that two trees in the backyard died. Loren guessed that they died from improper watering, but Grandpa Bates strongly disagreed. He believed that the tree seller was making money by cheating him with inferior trees. He thought that the trees had been injected with plant hormones before they were sold, so they looked lush and vibrant, but the roots were already rotten, which is why they died after only half a year. He made a point of getting up early to find the seller and demand an explanation, because if he went too late, the seller would have run away.

Too lazy to make breakfast, and nothing much to do, this kind of weather is perfect for sleeping.

After a few five-minute intervals, his mind gradually cleared, but his body refused to get out of bed. Loren turned over, opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and waited for his body to restart, while his mind wandered aimlessly.

The theory of apparition, Boggarts and Dementors, the relationship between body and soul...

The message left by Abraham and Slytherin...

Daisy Dodridge recounts a dark ancient history, a dreamlike journey through the starry sky where she sees a planet similar to Earth…

Many images flashed through his mind, and it seemed like a long time had passed. Loren felt sleepiness returning, and he could sleep for a few more five minutes.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, a loud popping sound rang out in the air, and Hermione appeared in the center of the room, holding Crookshanks in her arms. He didn't know what was so great about this ugly cat; it had a fat, chubby face and looked like the whole world owed it cat food.

Hermione wasn't surprised to see the person still lazing in bed, just a little helpless. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the lazybones: "How long do you plan to stay in bed?"

"..."

It's not like I intentionally wanted to lie down, so how would I know how long to lie down?

However, since Miss Granger comes from a family of doctors, she probably wouldn't accept such an answer, so Loren thought for a moment and stared at the fat cat with the persimmon-shaped face: "Let's wait another five minutes."

"How many five-minute intervals?"

"This question has stumped me."

Hermione released the cat from her arms and watched it walk lightly to the pillow, curl up into a ball, and squint its eyes, looking like it wanted to sleep in with this person.

Loren's eyes were open; he had just woken up, and the whites of his eyes were completely bloodless, his pupils jet black, making his eyes appear clean and bright. He was very handsome, and Hermione didn't care about that, but sometimes she couldn't help but take a few more glances.

She unusually refrained from urging him to get up or emphasizing how much homework he still had to do. Instead, she asked softly, "Did you stay up late last night?"

Loren hummed in agreement: "Remember that peculiar Soul-Capturing Stone? Flamel proposed a hypothesis, which I verified some time ago. I spent some time summarizing it last night and made some progress, but I still haven't completely unlocked the secret of the Soul-Capturing Stone."

Hermione looked down at him, her eyes gentle: "There'll be plenty of time later, you can study it slowly."

"I know." Loren shrugged twice, closing the distance between himself and Hermione. "I just suddenly made a small discovery, and I thought there would be a bigger breakthrough. I was a little excited, and before I knew it, I was staying up all night."

"Any discoveries?"

Loren moved closer to her, able to smell a faint fragrance. "That stone can reflect other people's emotions, right? I only realized this after I came back from vacation. Creatures with magic are different from those without. The colors marking wizards are more vibrant, which might be due to magic..."

"Who have you looked at with the Soul Stone?" Hermione gently stroked his hair, which was naturally curly and soft, warm to the touch, and felt a slight itch as the strands slipped through her fingers.

"Let me recall, there were pretty counters in the bakery, cashiers in the fresh food supermarket, and in the candy store..."

Hermione's expression turned slightly cold. She happened to be holding a handful of his hair in her hand. She knew very well that he was deliberately trying to anger her, but she still had an urge to squeeze and pull his hair tightly.

"hey-hey……"

Loren knew this behavior was dangerous, but he still did it with great enthusiasm. There was no other reason than to seek thrills.

After freeing his hair from Hermione's grasp, Loren tried to rest his head on her lap, but found the position awkward. He awkwardly changed his position before finally resting his head on her lap.

"Why did you stop counting?" Hermione started pinching his earlobe; the girl's hands were really getting restless.

"I'm not stupid."

Loren turned his head twice, trying to get rid of her hands that were kneading his ears, but then she started pinching his nose and poking his face, and just wouldn't stay still.

Loren wrapped his arms around the girl's waist and buried his face in her stomach to avoid further harassment. The soft short-sleeved shirt smelled nice, and he couldn't help but take a deep breath and slowly exhale.

"Don't move."

Hermione's voice trembled slightly as she remained seated on the edge of the bed, her body stiffening. Her long, slender, white fingers covered the sides of her head, and she used both hands to slowly and firmly pry them away. "Or I'll pull your hair."

"..."

Loren didn't struggle, but was somewhat indignant: "That's not fair! You'd rather hug Crookshanks than me?"

"Meow?"

Hearing someone call it, Crook Mountain next to it raised its head and called out blankly.

"..."

Hermione silently calmed herself down, ignoring both the cat and the person.

"Are you feeling guilty for not saying anything?"

"Shut up, get up and wash up."

"Lie down for another five minutes."

"You've been lying there for over ten five-minute intervals, are you getting up or not?"

"..."

Loren glanced at the sun that was about to shine on his backside, and got up anyway.

He's usually carefree, but he's actually quite perceptive when it matters. In this situation, it's generally not advisable to persist. Besides, about five minutes have passed; getting up now isn't out of coercion, but out of keeping our agreement.

After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and saw a righteous face that was unafraid of power and obeyed the rules.

Five minutes later, Loren returned to the bedroom.

My girlfriend is playing with that ugly cat again. I don't know how the cat can compare to my boyfriend. She's been teasing it and muttering to herself. Meanwhile, Crookshan is yawning and looking disgusted, as if to say, "Don't bother me while I'm sleeping."

Loren angrily stepped forward, grabbed the girl, and pushed her onto the bed.

……

Hermione was both annoyed and amused, and let him do as he pleased.

At first, he simply wrapped his arms around her waist, his grip a little tight but not painful, a very warm embrace. Then he buried his head in the crook of her neck and inhaled, as if smelling the fragrance of some flower—a familiar intimate gesture, though his breath was a little hot, making the girl's heart flutter. Then he became restless, kissing along her neck, moving towards her collarbone and neck, a tingling, moist heat seeping into her heart, causing her whole body to heat up.

Hermione initially tried to stop him, but after twisting her body a couple of times, she realized that it only made him suck harder, so she gave up struggling and went limp.

As that warm, moist sensation reached her lips, the girl let out a soft hum, responding to this profound and pure love.

Perhaps because he had just finished washing up, the kiss carried a faint toothpaste scent, a minty one, somewhat familiar yet somewhat strange. I remembered that his kisses used to always tasted orange...

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling no panic whatsoever.

She trusted Loren, and trusted the intense yet restrained love between them.

Crookshan was kicked halfway through, and his complaining meows went unanswered, so he slipped out of the room, hurting himself, and closed the door behind him.

This passionate encounter lasted for an unknown amount of time; neither of them noticed the passage of time. The passion was overflowing with love, and when the passion subsided—or rather, when it didn't—it simply ended naturally, perhaps because they were tired of kissing.

Loren embraced his beloved girl, his expression and mood both joyful. He had proven it: a boyfriend still smells better than a cat.

As far as the eye can see, the sun shines brightly.

Hermione hugged him tightly, then suddenly tugged at his sleeve, her voice barely audible, "You're poking me."

Loren shifted back slightly. "Sorry, I didn't put my wand away properly."

"..."