days at Hogwarts

Chapter 697 Easter 1997
The last Sunday in March, Easter.

Loren sat under a tree by the lake, with a lounge chair made of deformed branches beneath him.

March is coming to an end, the chill has completely subsided, the weather is getting warmer, the spring sunshine is comfortable and soft, and it feels warm on the body. Loren only wears a wizard robe over his shirt, and only buttoned one button to prevent the collar from being completely open. He didn't wear a tie, and his posture was lazy and casual.

The sun shone on the lake, a brilliant golden color. A breeze blew by, causing ripples to appear. The sparkling water suddenly fluctuated, making it a little dazzling. He couldn't help but look away towards the shore.

The ancient giant squid just poked its tentacles out of the water. A Gryffindor freshman approached cautiously and gently touched the suction cup on the tentacle. The giant squid was not annoyed, and the end of the tentacle shook slightly in response to the little wizard's greeting. The crowd watching immediately cheered.

In a trance, I seemed to see him when he was a freshman in school.

"Hermione."

"Ok?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to call you."

"..."

Hermione glanced at him and continued to flip through the journal.

The girl was wearing the same outfit as her, a standard shirt and a dark magic robe. She had no tie, but all the buttons were buttoned. She sat cross-legged on the grass with a beautifully printed book in front of her. Her exposed ankles were white and delicate.

The cover of the book is covered with a layer of bright film, with bright colors, and it reflects light in the sun. Unlike other wizard magazines, those overly exquisite patterns do not move. It is said that it is printed by Muggle research enthusiasts using Muggle technology. It is not an official association, and the readers are even rarer than "The Quibbler", and only a few copies are printed a year.

The article about reflections on magical transportation patterns triggered by Apparition has been published. The copy in the little witch's hand is a sample sent by the publisher, with a symbolic remuneration attached. Although the amount is small, Hermione is obviously very happy. After reading the entire article, she is now enthusiastically doing a 9×9 Sudoku crossword puzzle on the back page of the magazine.

"Hehe..."

Loren yawned and leaned over to the girl's shoulder with boredom, watching her fill the numbers into the grid after repeated consideration, so that each square and each line contained the numbers 1-9. This logically rigorous game gave her a sense of pleasure similar to the satisfaction of her obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Loren looked at it for a while and couldn't help but start pointing:
“Fill in 3 here.

“Fill in 6 here.

"Fill in the corners first."

At this time, Hermione turned her head, frowned slightly, and looked at him straight.

Loren suddenly became excited, raised his eyebrows, and shouted: "Write it! Why are you looking at me? Is there an answer on my face?"

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

"Next time, next time, next time, there are not so many next times in life. You are the laziest class of students I have ever taught. Thinking back to when we were in school..."

Hermione sighed a little tiredly. 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 got all this nonsense from, babble non-stop.

She looked up at this man. His eyes occasionally blinked, as if he really found these words very interesting. He would also make inexplicable movements, lowering his gaze to those lips, and lowering his head to move forward -

The annoying sound was blocked.

Loren's eyes widened, his first reaction being that this student had actually interrupted him, and then the will of the excellent teacher quickly sank.

The most touching thing is the tenderness when closing your eyes.

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

The tender branches turned into a lounge chair, which became a swing. The seat could just accommodate two people. They sat side by side, with their calves hanging naturally on the ground and their toes stepping on the swing, which began to swing slowly.

"Tell me! Do you really want to kiss me, or do you just want to gag me?"

"All."

"Miss Granger has good tactics."

"..."

"Wrong, it's Miss Granger who's a good kisser."

"Oh!"

……

There were birds chirping softly in the darkness, the sound was clear and somewhat familiar.

"Goo?"

"..."

"Cuckoo..."

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

Then an old man spoke in a low voice. It was hard to hear clearly, but it gave people a sense of security.

Harry's heart suddenly softened, and then he gradually woke up. The sounds surrounding him quickly approached, and even the breeze passing by became clearly audible. He suddenly remembered who the two people who were talking were.

"Fawkes, Dumbledore!"

Harry opened his eyes and sat up in the warm afterglow of the setting sun. His soft pajamas were wrinkled. He fumbled to put on his glasses and saw smoke gushing out of a finely crafted silver kettle. Looking along the spout, he saw Dumbledore standing in front of the window in a gray and white wizard robe, his cheeks full of wrinkles, his crooked nose and silver beard dyed golden.

He was a little dazed, and came back to his senses: "This...Sir, I slept all day?"

Dumbledore turned around when he woke up, with a gentle look in his blue eyes: "I think you were too tired last night. How did you sleep? Did you have a good dream?"

Before Harry could reply, his stomach growled and he looked away embarrassedly.

Dumbledore laughed and said softly, "Here are some biscuits. Fill your stomach first."

Harry picked up the temptingly colored butter biscuit on the table, took a small bite, and was attracted by the sweet smell. The glands under the tip of his tongue secreted saliva crazily, and the biscuit particles softened into a sandy and smooth fluid, which flowed into the empty stomach. The carbohydrates and fats brought the most fulfilling comfort, and this body responded with the most instinctive pleasure.

"One suggestion, just a suggestion, don't let the cookies take up too much space in your stomach, dinner time is coming up and I hear Easter dinner is pretty big."

"Well……"

Harry nodded his head to take the advice, but still ate seven or eight biscuits and gulped down his hot tea with a contented sigh.

"I was always like this when I was young. I would spend the whole afternoon in the forest and on the grass until the sun went down and I would run back home when my stomach growled with hunger. It was not yet dinner time and my mother would always scold me a few words. Then, unable to resist my pleas, she would give me some food to fill my stomach first..."

Dumbledore's eyes showed a nostalgic look. "Sometimes it's candy, sometimes it's butter biscuits, sometimes it's pies or bread prepared for dinner. If you ask me, those are the most delicious foods I can remember."

Harry didn't know why he said this, so he could only drink his tea in silence.

"I have lived for more than a hundred years, Harry. If I were asked to choose the happiest and most meaningful time in my life, it would definitely be the years with my family." Dumbledore picked up the teacup and took a sip. "My mother, Ariana... I often wonder, if there was a chance to bring my family back to life..." Harry looked up, his eyes flashing with hope, like an owl expecting postage.

"Life is beautiful, and it is beautiful to be with your family. It is natural for a child to want to save his mother. I should not and will not stop you." Dumbledore said slowly and gently, "But I hope you can always stay rational, Harry."

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

"I have many doubts, sir."

"I'll try to answer it for you."

"Who is the Half-Blood Prince?"

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

"Can I trust him?"

"At least you can trust me when it comes to resurrecting your mother."

"What is the method of resurrection?"

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

"Can I...really do this?"

"Follow your heart, Harry."

"..."

Harry suddenly felt a little scared. He thought Dumbledore was a little confused. How could he let himself decide such a big matter? But he could not deny that the idea had taken root in his mind and was constantly absorbing nutrients and growing. It was more active than the Whomping Willow and more vigorous than the century-old trees in the Forbidden Forest.

He raised his head, and the setting sun shone through the window onto his face and into his green eyes, the dazzling light brilliant and glorious.

……

The hall, Easter dinner.

The sun set completely below the horizon, and Hogwarts Castle was lit up with colorful candles.

The students sat around the long table in the college, chattering and exchanging Easter eggs. The whole room was filled with the unique aroma of chocolate. An unlucky guy bought an Easter egg from Weasleys' Joke Shop as a gift to the girl he liked. A few squeaking white mice opened, and the frightened girl screamed that she wanted to break up with him. The other students who were watching the fun laughed so hard that they fell over.

The professors in the guest of honor seats looked at the little wizards in the audience with smiles on their faces.

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

Two familiar figures, one old and one young, walked in from the door. Headmaster Dumbledore walked straight to the guest of honor seat. Ron waved to Harry quickly: "Here! Here!"

Harry walked quickly and sat down between the two of them.

Ron couldn't wait to ask, "You've been with Dumbledore all day. Did you get any important clues from Slughorn's memory? Can you defeat Voldemort?"

Harry glanced at Loren not far away, opened his mouth, and seemed to be hesitant to speak.

Ron suddenly understood: "I understand, I understand..."

This reaction stunned Harry. What do you understand?
"It has to be kept secret, right?" Ron lowered his voice. "You can't even tell us?"

"..."

"Don't bother him."

Ginny pushed his head away and handed Harry an Easter egg. The style looked like it was made by Mrs. Weasley. "Ignore him. I heard from Lauren that you didn't get enough rest last night. Go back and rest early after dinner."

Harry looked into her eyes and nodded heavily: "Yeah!"

Ron looked at the two people who were getting close to each other. One was his best friend, and the other was his own sister. He always felt a little awkward. He couldn't help but reach out and scratch his head.

There are no colorful ribbons or twelve lush Christmas trees. The Easter dinner is not as luxurious as the Christmas dinner. From the perspective of decoration, it is not even as good as the pumpkins and bats of Halloween. However, the dishes and scale of the Easter dinner are more grand than those of Christmas. All foods related to Easter are prepared, including Easter special roast rabbit, stewed lamb, roast chicken...

Sir Nicholas and Myrtle led the ghosts to perform their own plays. The story content was very consistent with the Easter theme. The main plot was that after their death, they wandered the world again in ghost form.

Nick's story was a bit clichéd. After his death, he turned into a ghost and wandered back to the castle from the Muggle world. Because of his head that was not completely chopped off, he made many jokes along the way. With the appropriate drama adaptation, he made the students laugh.
Myrtle's story this time does not focus on the basilisk, but tells the story of her death. After returning to the human world in the form of a ghost, she began to follow those who had mocked and insulted her before, especially Olive Hornby...

The whole story is humorous and lively, and Myrtle creates many jokes by combining Olive Hornby's reaction to being teased.

The hall was filled with the aroma of food and the sound of laughter. Except for Harry, who was preoccupied, he remained silent throughout the entire dinner. He only looked up when the ghosts were performing, with a light in his eyes.

After the dinner, the roommates went on dates, played chess, or took walks in the astronomy tower and the common room. Harry returned to his dormitory alone and took out the familiar book "Advanced Potion-Making".

Looking at the scribbled words "This book belongs to the Half-Blood Prince" at the bottom of the back cover, Harry was silent for a moment, picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote his own words with mixed feelings:
"Who are you?"

The ink seeped into the yellowed paper and was quickly absorbed, revealing the Half-Blood Prince's answer: "It's not important."

Harry was about to retort when he saw the words rearrange themselves:
"You've already met Dumbledore, haven't you?"

"Yes."

Harry's answer was very cautious, and this time the ink was absorbed and rearranged a little slower, as if the Half-Blood Prince's will was thinking, and he might be wondering why Dumbledore didn't intervene.

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

"What is the method to revive my mother?"

"With your empty head, it's hard for me to explain it to you."

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

"Wait for me at the school gate, now."

Who is the Half-Blood Prince?

What was the conspiracy behind luring me out of the castle late at night?
Could he be a Dark wizard or a Death Eater?

Walking out of the castle hall, these questions were still flashing in Harry's mind, but remembering what Dumbledore said during the day, he finally chose to trust the Half-Blood Prince.

The evening breeze blew towards me, bringing with it the dampness and coolness of the night, giving goose bumps to my neck. The night was dark, and the incomplete crescent moon barely illuminated the path leading to the school gate. Fog was rising in the Forbidden Forest, the greenhouse was pitch black, and the light was on in Hagrid's hut.

Harry happened to look back and saw that his shadow was very long.

The school gate was not locked but opened a narrow crack. Harry looked at the winged boar statue, suppressed his accelerating heartbeat, and squeezed out of the school gate.

Sure enough, there was a tall figure waiting by the roadside. Harry looked at the man's face and couldn't help but exclaimed:
"Snape!"

(End of this chapter)