days at Hogwarts

Chapter 605: Unknown Habit

"Mr. Dufresne, you give me the impression of being cold and remorseless. Just looking at you makes my blood run cold..."

"By the authority vested in me by the State of Maine, I sentence you to serve two consecutive life sentences as atonement for the lives of two victims..."

"Adjourn the court!"

"..."

Slightly noisy movie dialogues came from the speakers, and the digital versatile disc was spinning in the projector, projecting light and shadows into the dim room.

Hermione was curled up on the sofa with a blanket draped over her legs and brown woolen socks on her feet. Her pants, which were a perfect fit, were a little short when she sat down, revealing a small part of her white and tender calves. Her upper body was lying on her back, leaning against the human cushion, with her head resting on Loren's shoulder.

Hearing that Andy in the movie was sentenced to prison, the girl turned her head and looked at him with some distress: "He was wrongly accused, right?"

Loren put one hand on the girl's shoulder and naturally hugged the girl into his arms, taking a deep breath, feeling the sweet and soft smell.

"I don't know either. Let's look back..."

The turmoil in the Ministry of Magic happened a few days ago. After returning home, the two tacitly put the turmoil in the wizarding world behind them and planned to spend a warm Christmas holiday with their parents. However, Mr. and Mrs. Granger returned to the clinic to work early, and Grandpa Bates was nowhere to be seen all day, so the two became left-behind children.

After finishing their holiday homework, the two were too lazy to go out and wander in the snow, so they spent the whole day in the screening room, watching the wonderful movies released in the past two years.

The past two years have been unprecedented in the film industry. High-quality films such as "Forrest Gump", "Pulp Fiction", "Sunny Days" and "Eat Drink Man Woman" have emerged in droves, and the two were so engrossed in watching them that they forgot to go to Hogwarts.

Occasionally, we would come across some scenes that are not suitable for children, but fortunately, they are no longer children, and a little bit of shy scenes can make it more exciting.

The projector's casing has been hot for a long time. If it weren't for the magic that can quickly cool it down and repair mechanical damage, the plastic casing that looks very old might have melted due to long-term operation.

The scene changed, and the light of the screen quietly fell into darkness. Loren moved to the side comfortably and hugged the little witch tighter.

The girl was not unaware of anything. When the room fell into darkness, she shrank into the man's arms, raised her head and glanced at his face out of the corner of her eye. She saw that he was concentrating on watching the movie. For some reason, she suddenly felt unhappy. She pursed her nose, snorted, and continued to concentrate on watching the movie.

"The Shawshank Redemption" is indeed a movie that is destined to go down in history. A large number of fixed shots bring the audience into that depressing prison, watching Andy find joy in suffering in prison, seeking hope from despair, and being crushed when he sees hope, and finally relying on faith and wisdom to break through the prison's shackles and gain freedom.

This wasn't the first time Loren had watched this movie, but he was always immersed in it every time.

Hermione watched the last scene of the movie, where Red followed the instructions left by Andy and reunited with his old friend at the beach. The two free souls celebrated with each other... Perhaps inspired by the movie, she couldn't help but shrink into Loren's arms again, mumbling and sharing her own feelings:
"Most movies focus on finding out the truth and clearing the protagonist's name, but this movie is very innovative..."

"Um……"

"The director hinted from the beginning that the truth is not important..."

"Um……"

"Some birds cannot be caged, and each of their wings shines with the glory of freedom. This is a poem by Rabindranath Tagore..."

At the moment when Loren was about to perfunctorily respond, he noticed the girl's slightly dangerous gaze. He pretended to think, lowered his eyes, saw the small part of the calf exposed, and after a moment's hesitation, he asked softly, "Are you cold?"

Hermione was still immersed in the touching and philosophical thoughts brought by the movie. She nodded subconsciously without thinking too much.

"Why didn't you say so earlier? You're so old, but you don't even know you're cold..."

Loren muttered to himself as he loosened his arms and pulled the girl's feet over to hold them in his arms. His movements were natural and smooth, and his expression was calm and composed, not giving her any time to react.

Her feet felt a little itchy, and Hermione seemed to be able to feel the soft and elastic touch and warm body temperature coming from his abdomen. Her whole body couldn't help but shrink slightly, and her legs froze.

This atmosphere did not last long. I don't know when the projector started playing the next movie, Quentin's "Pulp Fiction".

Loren looked straight ahead with his eyes, looking very seriously, and this attitude made Hermione relax a little.

However, in a place where the girl couldn't see, Loren glanced downwards, concentrating on admiring the pair of well-proportioned and slender legs. They were soft to the touch, but the joints could be felt. Even through a layer of soft woolen socks, he seemed to be able to feel the smooth skin. Unconsciously, the action of covering for warmth turned into stroking, and finally developed into kneading like playing.

Hermione stared at the screen, but the picture in her eyes was a little blurry. Her eyes were filled with tears. Soon she no longer felt cold. Instead, her skin began to feel slightly hot. A strange emotion began to spread in her heart.

It's not like they had no physical contact before; embracing and kissing were very familiar actions, but this feeling was a little different from before.

After the movie ended, neither of them had any impression of the plot, but they both remembered the director named Quentin and always felt that he had some unknown quirks.

……

Ten p.m.

After having dinner at the Grangers' house, Loren returned home, washed up, and went to bed. He closed his eyes, and his consciousness sank into dreams, into the alchemy laboratory of the book of fantasy.

There was translucent red stone powder suspended on the operating table, emitting a brilliant red light. This was the experiment that Loren had been using to analyze the Philosopher's Stone and try to reconstruct it these days.

"The magic power contained in the powder is still very thin and unstable, and is easily affected by the outside world..." Flamel has been doing testing projects for him recently, and studying the two gems he got from the Department of Mysteries. He even put aside his hobby of studying drama for the time being, and he hasn't been seen reading a book recently.

"After all, these imitation powders of the Philosopher's Stone were just attempts at ordinary alchemy, with almost no reference to the Book of Abraham. This was anticipated before production..."

Loren put the powder into a glass dish, not caring much about their performance: "Let's talk about the two gems. What did you find, Flamel?" The silver ghost floating in the air shook his head: "I can't touch the golden gem that is soaked in the magic of time. As for the other magic gem that was stripped from the planet room, it gave me some inspiration about space."

"Tell me the details."

"According to your Muggle interpretation of natural science, space is a form of objective existence of matter relative to time... Space can be expressed by length, width, height, and size..."

Flamel is a master of alchemy. After he had sufficient exposure to the scientific knowledge of Muggles, he seemed to combine some profound magical principles with basic scientific principles, and his explanations were easy to understand, yet more comprehensive than before.

Loren seemed to have returned to the days when he had just opened the book of fantasy, absorbing new knowledge eagerly.

……

The new year has just begun, and the temperature in Little Hangleton is at its lowest. Most villagers prefer to stay at home, light firewood, and watch the roaring flames rise in the fireplace.

The elderly people would watch the children who were at home on vacation poking the fire with skewers or sticks, and would stop them with a smile. If a child cried, they would find ways to divert the child's attention, such as talking about the house on the hillside outside the village, the mansion called Riddle.

If one gets tired of hearing Riddle's stories, some older person might tell of another eccentric family that died out even earlier, whose last name was Gaunt.

On the outskirts of Big Hangleton, a few kilometers away from Little Hangleton, dense nettle bushes were covered by snow, and some of the nettle branches and leaves still spread to the windows... No, there were no windows at all. They were covered with thick, old dirt, the walls were collapsed, the tiles were incomplete, and ice and snow fell into the house through the gaps. The water vapor made the room damp and cold, black and green mold grew on the wooden furniture and beams, and an obscure smell of decay lingered nearby.

In the main room, whose shape could still be seen, Voldemort gently shook his bloody fingers, and the scabbed skin caused by large-area burns broke open, and disgusting pus mixed with blood flowed out.

He looked at a young animal in the corner of the room. The fawn was very thin, with flesh almost hanging on its bones, its hair was withered, and there were even some bald spots. Its yellow and white spots were stained with a layer of gray and black, and it looked very sick.

"Dear Severus, I know you are in pain. I know how you feel. You have been stripped of your body, worse than a ghost, worse than the humblest wandering spirit. The pain is beyond everything. You can't resist anything. You can only possess this weakest creature, unable to help yourself..."

Voldemort picked up the worn wand on the table. It was not his wand. The yew wand with phoenix tail feathers had been burned in Dumbledore's fire long ago. It was not Snape's wand either. He didn't even save an inch of his skin.

"Yes, I know. These days are very difficult. Every spell that can help us requires the use of a wand... I was too careless and insisted on executing the most careful plan, so I was thwarted by luck and accident... But, but..."

Voldemort chuckled. This wand came from his dearest uncle, Morfin Gaunt, who died in Azkaban, and those stupid Aurors buried him and his wand together in the cemetery of the Gaunt old house.

"But we have passed the most difficult times..."

Voldemort pointed the wand at himself. Perhaps the wand sensed the same blood as its previous owner, and the tip of the wand shone with a crystal light. If someone braved the heavy snow and came to the suburbs, passing through the dense nettle bushes, they would see the silvery light emitting from the dilapidated windows of the old Gaunt house.

The charred, festering scabs quickly fell off, the bloody skin slowly moved, and the tender new flesh healed quickly.
A few seconds later, the fingers holding the wand turned slender and pale again. Voldemort showed a terrible smile, and his scarlet snake pupils became empty and cold: "I swear, in the rest of my life that has no end, I will always remember these days and nights when I can't close my eyes, and remember our embarrassed figures digging up the grave inch by inch..."

"I will let all wizards know who is the final winner!"

"Before that, I need a suitable wand..."

……

Of all the half-Muggle, half-wizard settlements, perhaps the furthest to the right is Godric's Hollow.

This village in southwestern Britain has been home to many famous wizards. The village is named after Godric Gryffindor, one of the founders of Hogwarts. It is also the place where wizard goldsmith Bowman Wright forged the first Golden Snitch. The graves are full of the surnames of ancient wizard families...

As night falls, scattered stars twinkle in the deep blue sky.

This is the square in the center of the village, which still retains its Christmas decorations. Colorful lights are hung around it, and ribbons are flying on the Christmas tree. Fragments of laughter can be heard from the houses on both sides of the street, and joyful carols can be heard from the chapel.

Along with the sound of air exploding, a hooded figure suddenly appeared. His pale face and vertical pupils glowing red were particularly conspicuous in the dark night.

The wizard who suddenly appeared looked around to identify the direction and walked straight into the dark alley where the street lights could not reach. After a day of trampling by people, the snow on the road in Godric's Hollow was compacted and became hard and slippery.

After passing several houses, he turned to a door, walked into the path, crossed a deserted garden, and came to the door. The visitor withdrew a grim smile and raised his hand to knock lightly.

"Who is it?"

A hoarse old woman answered the door. She was too old, with sparse white hair and clearly visible scalp. Her face was covered with intermittent blood vessels and age spots. Her eyes were sunken in transparent skin wrinkles with thick cataracts inside. She was so old that her back was hunched and she was extremely short. Her knuckles with blue and purple spots stood out against the peeling paint like dead vines.

The room smelled of stale mold, dust, dirty clothes, and spoiled food, but Voldemort didn't mind. "Bathilda?"

"I am..." The old man's voice was particularly hoarse, "Who are you?"

Voldemort did not answer the question, but said to himself: "I trusted those incompetent servants too much and entrusted everything to them, so I forgot to think with my own brain, so I overlooked a question, how could a person who stole the Elder Wand be unknown?"

Bathilda was aware that something was wrong, and with great difficulty, she managed to force herself to show some strength: "No matter who you are, I advise you to leave as soon as possible!"

"If he had once come to prominence, Bathilda Bagshot, the oldest and most knowledgeable magical historian alive, would have recognized him..."

Voldemort stretched out his hand to stop the old man from closing the door. Between his index and middle fingers, a picture popped out. On it was a picture of a blond boy with a bright smile: "Tell me, his name..."

Powerful magical power emanated from the pair of scarlet vertical pupils.

Probe straight into the old man's mind.

(End of this chapter)