I, Hogwarts Second Week

(This chapter has been modified)

Harry's scar was burning for several days.

Every night he had to use all his strength to restrain himself from groaning loudly.

He knew that the pain on his forehead was only because that person was angry.

In fact, in the few sleeps he had in the past few days, he always dreamed of that person.

He saw that person was angry.

Grabbing a thin and haggard old man, ragged clothes.

"You told me that as long as I used someone else's wand, that thing would not happen."

"But obviously-you deceived me, deceived Lord Voldemort."

"No-no!"

Voldemort threw the man to the ground like throwing away garbage. Then he cruelly used the Cruciatus Curse on him.

The old man lay on the stone floor, uttering a terrible, long scream, his voice filled with unbearable pain.

"No - no - I beg you - have mercy - have mercy."

"You can no longer receive Lord Voldemort's favor. Ollivander! I will extract your soul bit by bit and throw it into the black flame to burn for a hundred years!"

"No -" Ollivander wailed, "I didn't, I swear I didn't -"

"You wanted to help Potter, you wanted to help Potter not die in my hands!"

"I swear I didn't - I thought changing a wand would work -"

"Then explain this matter. Why does this crystal wand still have a connection with Potter."

"I - I don't understand, that kind of connection - only exists - between your two wands -"

"Lie!"

"Please - I beg you -"

Harry saw the white hand raising the wand, felt Voldemort's violent rage, and saw the weak old man writhing in pain on the ground -

The torture lasted for several days.

After an unknown amount of time, the cold and pain became a habit that could be tolerated, and together with the shackles, they formed a chapter called life.

In August, the sunshine from the midsummer poured into the ruins of the ancient castle, dispelling the lingering cold.

However, Harry had never truly felt the historical glory brought by the castles around him. Earlier, he was curious about what the castle given to Granger by the Queen of England would look like.

Like Hogwarts? Or Buckingham Palace?

Or Rosier Manor?

He had only been to these places, and his impression of castles was even less than that of ordinary Muggles, at least they could still see many silent medieval castles in magazines and on TV.

He had expected it - but now, with the death of Dumbledore, this curiosity and beauty disappeared.

All that was left was the darkness of day and night and the endless anger and groaning from the other half of the soul.

————

"Harry - Harry - Harry!"

It was like someone was calling him in a dream.

Gradually, the voice became clearer and clearer.

Finally, standing in front of the window sill of the castle without glass, Harry came back to his senses in the cold wind.

He rubbed his forehead. Compared with a week ago, the pain has been reduced a lot.

Now, there is only a slight stinging and a long silence.

"Harry, go back to the room." Hermione walked forward and whispered, "You are not still thinking about leaving?"

"Are you okay-" The little witch came closer and looked at Harry's face, "You look terrible!"

"It's okay." Harry said with a trembling voice, "My face is probably better than Ollivander's."

These days, he has told others all the memories of Voldemort that he saw.

"Harry, don't contact the mysterious man anymore." Hermione said seriously, "You still need to practice your brain occlusion. You have only mastered this magic basically, but you are not proficient."

"These days, the mysterious man has successively occupied the Ministry of Magic, newspapers, Hogwarts and most of the magical world. There are servants everywhere in Europe, Africa, and America. Don't let him occupy your brain again."

Harry did not answer.

He felt confused.

In the past few days, most members of the Order of the Phoenix came here, and then left after a short stay.

Everyone's face was filled with inextricable sorrow.

However, there was also good news - at least the people they knew were alive - temporarily.

He and Hermione returned to the upper floors along the dilapidated stone stairs.

The castle was seriously damp, and the lower floors were uninhabitable.

In a large room with a good fireplace (which they used as a living room), a group of young wizards stayed here.

Ron, Ginny, Coyote and Owen.

No one spoke.

The fireplace was burning to dry the room and dispel the cold.

The sunlight shone through the broken window frames, mottled on the rotten wooden floor, forming a series of light and dark patterns, telling the desolation that there was no time to grieve.

The lime on the walls of the room was severely peeling off, revealing the rough stones inside. These stones were uneven due to the erosion of the years, and there were mold blocks in the corners due to the long-term moisture.

In front of them were the prefect's wooden table and chairs. They were just ordinary tables and chairs, but in this environment, they looked desolate.

There were many newspapers on the table.

There were magical newspapers of all kinds.

They were all collected by Dobby.

The one right above was naturally the Daily Prophet.

Everyone present had read it several times.

The news about Dumbledore's death had caused a stir in the wizarding world in the past few days.

Even if Voldemort controlled the Ministry of Magic and newspapers, he could not stop such news from spreading, nor could he stop people from remembering Dumbledore (secretly).

Because Dumbledore, in addition to being against him, has made unparalleled contributions to the magical world, including several wars and academics, including his tenure as the headmaster of Hogwarts - although there are always some pure-blood wizards who think that it was Dumbledore who messed up Hogwarts, and the school was in a mess, and he was fully responsible. But such people are always a minority. Most wizards sincerely admire him.

Harry sat in a chair. Looking out the window.

He couldn't help but always think about Dumbledore being alive and couldn't help thinking about Snape, the traitor, choosing to betray. He couldn't help but think about what they would do in the future.

It's like a person has lost his backbone and suddenly lost his direction in the future.

Even though a week has passed, this feeling still hasn't dissipated.

The room was quiet. They were mostly silent these days, except when Sirius or Lupin came to visit, they would be a little more active.

But it was a turbulent time, the Order of the Phoenix was in the midst of a storm, and Sirius and the others didn't have much time to accompany them.

Harry reached out and picked up today's Daily Prophet from the table. Everyone else had read it, but he hadn't.

Just a quick glance at the headline, he knew that the Ministry of Magic had put pressure on the Daily Prophet, because there was no news about Voldemort in the newspaper.

The most important thing after that was the tenth page, which was an obituary.

Written by Elphias Doge.

Suddenly - Harry remembered that Owen had said at the wedding that day that Elphias Doge was going to write an obituary for Dumbledore - he thought Owen was joking - did Dumbledore know that he would die at that time?

Harry frowned slightly and couldn't help but look at Owen.

Was Dumbledore's death a plan?

If it were before, he would definitely ask immediately. But now, he didn't ask immediately. If Dumbledore didn't tell him, there must be a deep meaning. If this plan is to deal with Voldemort, the fewer people who know about it, the better. This is the only way to prevent the news from leaking out.

Harry could not help but start to look at the problem from a global perspective.

Thinking of this, Harry continued to read.

- Missing Albus Dumbledore.

I met Albus Dumbledore on the Hogwarts train on the day I entered Hogwarts. I was eleven years old at the time.

We were both freshmen that year, and our friendship was established the moment we entered the same compartment.

The reason why we were attracted to each other was undoubtedly because we both felt that we were outsiders.

I contracted dragon pox shortly before entering school. Although it is no longer contagious, my face was covered with pimples and my skin was blue, so not many people wanted to approach me.

As for Albus, he came to Hogwarts under the pressure of notoriety.

Less than a year ago, his father Percival had brutally attacked three young Muggles, which made a lot of noise. Albus never tried to deny that his father (who was imprisoned for life in Azkaban) was guilty of this crime. On the contrary, when I summoned the courage to ask him, he made it clear to me that he knew his father was guilty.

Beyond that, Dumbledore refused to discuss this sad event, although many people tried to get him to talk.

Some even praised his father's behavior with relish and concluded that Albus was also a Muggle-hater. But they were wrong. Anyone who knew Albus could testify that he never showed any anti-Muggle tendencies. In fact, his later firm defense of Muggle rights made him many enemies.

Within a few months of attending school, Albus's reputation began to surpass that of his father.

By the end of the first year, he was no longer seen as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as the smartest student the school had ever seen.

Those of us who were fortunate enough to be his friends benefited greatly from his example, not to mention the help and encouragement he always gave us without hesitation.

He confessed to me many years later that he knew even then that his greatest joy would be teaching.

Not only did he win various important awards from the school, but he soon established frequent correspondence with the most famous magic masters of the time, including the famous alchemist Nick Flamel, the well-known historian Bathilda Bagshot, and the magic theorist Adelbert Waffling.

Several of his papers were published in academic journals such as "Transfiguration Today", "Spell Innovation" and "Practical Potion Master".

Dumbledore was a great success at Hogwarts. He was more famous than all the professors before he graduated. His future seemed bright. The only question was when he would become the Minister of Magic. In the days that followed, although it was often predicted that he would take up this position, he never had the ambition to become a minister.

Three years after we entered school, Albus's younger brother Aberforth also came to Hogwarts. The two brothers were not alike. Aberforth never liked to read, and he liked to duel instead of solving problems through rational negotiation, which was also unlike Albus.

However, some people said that the two brothers did not have a good relationship.

This was not true either. Although they had different personalities, they got along well.

To be fair to Aberforth, it must be admitted that living in Albus's shadow was not a particularly comfortable thing. As his friend, it was really demoralizing to always be overshadowed by him; as a brother, it certainly wasn't much happier.

After leaving Hogwarts, Albus and I planned to travel the world together, following the tradition of the time, visiting and observing foreign wizards, and then pursuing our own careers.

However, tragedy struck.

The day before we set out, Albus's mother, Kendra, died, and Albus became the head of the family and the breadwinner.

I delayed my departure to attend Kendra's funeral, and then set out on a lonely journey alone.

Albus had to take care of a pair of young siblings, and his family was in financial difficulties, so he could not travel with me.

It was a period of our lives when we had the least contact.

I wrote to Albus, describing the strange things I saw on my travels, from escaping the Greek Chimera to visiting the experiments of Egyptian alchemists.

This was perhaps unkind of me, because his letters rarely mentioned his daily life.

I guess it must have been frustratingly boring for such a brilliant wizard.

I was so absorbed in my travels that, towards the end of a year, tragedy struck the Dumbledore family again; his sister Ariana died.

I was shocked to hear this, for although Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, her two brothers had been devastated by the loss of their mother so soon after.

All those who were close to Albus, including myself, agreed that Ariana's death, and the responsibility that Albus felt for it (of course, he was not actually guilty), would haunt him for the rest of his life.

When I returned, I saw a young man experiencing the pain of an old man who was not commensurate with his age.

Albus was more silent and in a much heavier mood than before.

What made him even more miserable was that Ariana's death did not bring Albus and Aberforth closer together, but instead made them more distant. (This estrangement gradually improved, and they later reestablished a relationship that was, if not close, certainly friendly.)

After that, Albus rarely spoke of his parents and Ariana, and his friends avoided talking about them.

In the years that followed, his achievements would be described.

The great contributions Dumbledore made to the storehouse of wizarding knowledge, including his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and the wisdom he displayed in many of his judgments as Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot, will benefit future generations.

It is also said that no wizard duel ever rivaled the one between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945.