Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 792 The Final Battle on Earth

At 3 p.m., the match had been going on for four hours.

A group of students sat in the stands, enjoying the game and snacking as they watched.

The offensive and defensive situation between the two teams has eased considerably. Prolonged, intense attacks are difficult to sustain, and coupled with hunger and thirst, both teams' players are somewhat exhausted. The frequency and speed of their attacks have decreased, and the competition is no longer fierce. Players only shift positions to defend when the opponent organizes an attack. Frankly, the situation looks a bit boring.

The score remained close, and the outcome of the match depended on the players seeking the ball.

Many seats in the stands were empty because some spectators couldn't stay any longer and left early to go back to the auditorium for a meal; they haven't returned yet.

The front row of the stands was occupied by Hogwarts professors and staff. While students could sneak away to eat, the professors couldn't leave under the children's watchful eyes. Flitwick and Professor Sprout's smiles were somewhat forced. This year's final had nothing to do with them, so they weren't particularly interested in it to begin with. Now, after being trapped for four hours, they just wanted this ordeal to end as soon as possible.

Even the two vice principals temporarily ceased hostilities, and their words carried more of a sense of camaraderie.

"These two teams are really tenacious..."

"I wonder if it will end before sunset."

"Draco's search direction half an hour ago was correct. If they had gathered on the right side of the field at that time, they should have forced out the Golden Snitch and ended the game."

"Harry's decision an hour ago was correct. If the two had kept their distance and covered a wider search area, the Golden Snitch would have been caught by now."

"Minerva, Severus, you can continue during dinner. I just want to watch the game in peace right now."

"I agree with Felius's proposal..."

Dumbledore listened from the sidelines, his gaze fixed on the two men locked in combat above the pitch, a faint smile playing on his lips. Only a very few people realized that this was also the last Quidditch match he would ever watch at Hogwarts.

Fortunately, this match was special enough to stay in our memories for many years to come.

The professors quieted down and continued watching the game on the field.

Harry gripped the broom handle tightly, his face pale. Judging solely from the Seeker's skill and experience, he believed his current ability was comparable to Krum's during the Goblet of Fire years. He was adept at all tactics, possessed unwavering resolve, and, moreover, Gryffindor was currently leading in points, reducing his mental pressure. Draco, standing beside him, bore far greater pressure. His two-year suspension from competition had hindered his practice, but with a few months of training and an indomitable spirit, he had tenaciously clung to Harry, like a venomous snake tightly coiled around the Slytherin flag.

The scene of the two sides locked in a fierce and exciting battle is thrilling and exciting.

Various sudden stops and turns, various dives and sprints, various close-to-the-ground climbs, every acceleration and roll, every nimble maneuver, can arouse cheers from the stands. Even those who do not know about Kui Earth can see the brilliance of the flying skills.

Harry eventually caught the Golden Snitch, half a body length ahead.

Gryffindor continued their winning streak.

The audience in the stands reacted extremely strongly. The cheers of Gryffindors echoed throughout the stadium, while the Slytherin students remained silent. Some walked down from the stands in dejection, clutching the green snake flag tightly, their steps heavy.

It was originally expected; the four-hour stalemate had given them hope, but now that hope was dashed, the disappointment was even harder to accept.

Draco's body was exhausted and even somewhat numb. Looking at the opposing team celebrating enthusiastically, a complex look appeared in his eyes. It seems that some things are just like that. Even when you have given your all and victory is within reach, you still end up failing.

This feeling of powerlessness is even more unbearable than physical aches and pains.

"The players from both sides shake hands!"

Mrs. Hooch's whistle interrupted his thoughts.

Draco pursed his lips, casually shook his head, and followed at the end of the line to shake hands.

"..."

Gryffindor students flooded the pitch, and Colin Creevey, holding a camera bigger than his head, his cheeks flushed with excitement, shouted: "Harry stands in the middle with the trophy in hand, the seventh-years surround him, and a little to the side, yes, yes..."

Loren and Hermione also got a shot, in the second row, right corner.

"One, two, three—cheese!"

The image freezes at that moment.

……

As the sun sets in the west, the Black Lake glistens with light.

The cheers and clamor from the Quidditch pitch in the distance had not yet subsided. The victory in the final brought jubilation to Gryffindor, while Slytherin, after a period of disappointment, recovered. All the graduating players stayed on the pitch, stroking their brooms, lingering around the scoring rings, listening to the sound of the bats striking the ground, trying to etch these memories into their minds, and incidentally, to deepen their understanding of the people and events they had experienced on the pitch over the past few years.

It wasn't as sad as I had imagined.

Other students were strolling along the shore of Black Lake, simply playing and enjoying the sunny weekend, leisurely exploring the lake.

On the right side of Black Lake, there is a group of reefs. The bushes along the shore are deep and the beech trees are lush. There are also more mosquitoes there than in other places, making it particularly unpopular. Therefore, students do not like to play here, especially after sunset. However, a few people think the scenery here is beautiful.

For example, an old principal wearing a gray-white robe.

The audit of the financial statements was delegated to Severus, and the report to the Board of Trustees was entrusted to Minerva. With no trivial matters to worry about and no dark wizards to fret about, the four-hour final match on Queer's Earth was exceptionally exciting, and the sunset on the shore was particularly enchanting. Dumbledore felt both were memories worth cherishing.

He waved his sleeves to shoo away the mosquitoes, patient and with a calm and gentle expression.

The sound of birds flapping their wings came from overhead. Looking up, I saw a dark brown owl land in the principal's office window.

It was a letter from Mr. Kohler of New York. Since the Christmas holidays, he had not stopped inquiring about news of Loren, and not long ago, Miss Joggins had also started writing letters asking some strange questions.

They were trying to find out something, but dared not ask directly or frankly.

The sunset reflected in Dumbledore's deep blue eyes, shimmering faintly.

He was not quite sure about many things before, only piecing together a vague outline. He did not yet know the full picture of that grand blueprint, but at least he was willing to believe in his students.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the ripples on the lake faded.

Dumbledore stood on the rocky shore. A hundred years ago, when he was still studying at Hogwarts, the sunset here looked just like this, except that the bushes weren't as lush back then. The evening breeze blew from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, carrying a slight chill. The air gradually became humid, and the night fog slowly spread.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from behind.

Dumbledore turned to look.

A familiar figure was slowly approaching, pushing aside branches and weeds. He was wearing the standard Gryffindor robes, had black hair and black eyes, and a faint smile on his face.

"Principal, so you've been here all along."

"It sounds like trouble is on our side."

"How can a professor find it troublesome to help his students?" Loren said with a smile.

I was so busy taking photos with them that I didn't remember I had something important to do with the principal until the sun went down. Luckily, the principal is so radiant and bright, like a little sun, that this place is the brightest spot after sunset.

"..."

Dumbledore gave a helpless smile. He recalled the letters from Miss Joggins and Mr. Kohauer, and through previous clues, he had vaguely pieced together part of the plan. It was tedious and massive, definitely more troublesome than dealing with financial statements.

Tell me about it.

"The story has a rather long beginning, starting with the Book of Abraham," Loren said, keeping it as brief as possible. "Many items and clues left behind by legendary wizards have come together in my hands, gradually piecing together a path to the Promised Land of Magic, which is a new type of spatial teleportation device..."

"So that's how it is..."

Accumulated over a century, this was a precious treasure. The old wizard, an expert in alchemy, quickly grasped the concepts he was explaining.

What are the chances of success?

"I don't know either."

Loren shrugged and sighed, "The new space device is stuck in the final step of mass production. Activating teleportation requires precise control of the energy output of the magic stone. While the transmission of a single device can be controlled by an experienced wizard, this kind of long-distance teleportation requires thousands of devices forming a matrix to ensure simultaneous and synchronized output control without any errors... I really can't think of any other way, so I had to come to you for help."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered as he pondered deeply.

Thousands of devices are interconnected and controlled by the core containing the magic stone. This operating mode reminded him of a spring that is connected to the same water source and linked together by incredible magic, with the water flow always being uniform.

The answer quickly came to mind.

"So that's how it is..."

Magic is always so wondrous. Even after a century of in-depth exploration of its secrets, even to the point of pushing the boundaries of life and death, we are still amazed by its magic. It's as if there truly is a consciousness beyond all living beings, quietly arranging everything.

Dumbledore snapped out of his reverie and looked at Loren, who was kicking pebbles into the lake, a gentle smile on his face: "Loren, do you remember the oath we once made?"

"You mean...?"

Loren raised his right hand, his gaze falling on the tip of his index finger. As if sensing his gaze, golden flame patterns floated beneath the fingerprint—a magical contract.

Dumbledore nodded, raised his right hand, and the same light shone from his fingertips.

……

The castle was exceptionally quiet at dusk.

Back in the castle foyer, he found the girl waiting for him at the bottom of the marble stairs.

The sun had just set, and the moon had not yet risen. Only the afterglow of the sunset had not completely dissipated. In the dim light, the girl stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking down at the wildflowers at her feet. There were only a few of them, pale yellow, and no bigger than a fingernail.

A gentle evening breeze stirred the girl's hair, making it sway slightly and adding a touch of tenderness to her graceful figure.

Hearing footsteps approaching, the girl turned her head to look this way. Her skin was fair and delicate, even more tender than flower petals. Suddenly facing this beautiful face, she felt as if her heart had been struck.

Hermione.

Loren quickened his pace and ran closer, leaned in and kissed her cheek, then chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder.

Hermione remained calm, merely wiping the drool from her face, her tone equally unwavering: "Does Headmaster Dumbledore have a solution?"

"Let's go find the Fountain of Good Fortune on our graduation trip!"

"??"

We entered the castle just as it was time for dinner.

Perhaps to make up for the lunch missed by Quidditch, dinner was exceptionally lavish tonight. Even before entering the Great Hall, the rich aroma filled the air, making my stomach rumble.

Normally, the two of them would take different dishes and exchange them, but now Hermione couldn't contain her curiosity. She carried her plate and followed him closely, taking whatever he took.

What's the story behind the Lucky Fountain?

"Give me a pan-fried veal steak."

Hermione, completely unconcerned about dinner, let him place a whole steak on her plate, then pressed on, "Is that the Fountain of Good Fortune from the Tales of Beedle the Bard? Like the Bouncing Pot?"

"That's right, it's the Fountain of Good Fortune..." Loren was scooping mashed potatoes and ground beef into Hermione's plate, slowly placing a spoonful. "I once made a deal with Dumbledore that as long as I controlled the use of Legilimency, he would tell me about the Fountain of Good Fortune."

"The contract has been reached?"

"The contract was just an excuse. At that time, Dumbledore was so engrossed in his role as a mentor that teaching Harry wasn't enough. He was worried that if I were exposed to Legilimency, a dark magic that touches the depths of the soul, I might be affected. So he suggested making a contract with the Fountain of Good Fortune, just like coaxing a child."

"Then you still agreed."

"I'm trying to appease the old man. If I don't agree, he'll worry about this and that all the time, and I'm worried he'll harass me."

"..."

"How about a piece of red wine braised chicken?"

"Is the Lucky Fountain related to the new spatial teleportation device?"

"Dumbledore believed that the Fountain of Good Fortune could solve the current predicament, stabilize the output of the Philosopher's Stone, prevent interference between the devices, and successfully complete large-scale, long-distance spatial teleportation."

"The final hurdle to mass-producing the new spatial teleportation device has been solved..." Hermione murmured, her expression somewhat dazed. "What does the professor think of your plan? Did he offer any opinions or suggestions?"

"no."

"Nothing at all?"

"Otherwise, Dumbledore is always slacking off and is practically retired..."

Loren picked up a piece of applesauce with black blood sausage, his eyes gleaming, and secretly glanced at Hermione's expression; she was still in a daze.

He had tried this once before, and the taste was indescribable; he thought it was a culinary disaster and stayed away from it ever since. Now that he's about to graduate, he wants to try it again, but he's worried he won't be able to eat it.

After a moment's hesitation, he placed the black blood sausage onto Hermione's plate.

"If it weren't for the Voldemort incident keeping him tied to the school, he might have retired and traveled the world long ago. He had expressed similar ideas before, believing that each generation of wizards has its own mission, and each era has its own problems that wizards need to solve. His historical mission has been completed."

"..."

Just as they were walking back to their seats, Hermione stopped and took his plate. "There's cream of mushroom soup over there. Get me a serving. I'll wait for you at my seat."

"OK."

Loren returned to his seat after getting the mushroom soup, staring at the black blood sausage on the plate in front of him, and fell silent.

"Emmm..."

The innocent and adorable little witch of the past can never be returned to.