I, Hogwarts Week Two

Chapter 552 About Dumbledore

(This chapter has been revised)

Harry's scar burned painfully for several days.

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

He knew that the pain in his forehead again could only be caused by that person being angry.

In fact, during the few sleeps he had in the past few days, he kept dreaming about that person.

He saw that the man was angry.

He grabbed a thin, haggard old man in tattered clothes.

"You told me that nothing like that would happen if I used someone else's wand."

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

"no no!"

Voldemort threw the man to the ground like trash, and then cruelly used the Cruciatus Curse on him.

The old man lay on the stone floor, uttering a terrible, long-drawn scream of unbearable agony.

"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—" wailed Ollivander. "I didn't, I swear I didn't—"

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

"I swear I didn't - I thought a different wand would help -"

"Then you explain this matter. Why is this crystal wand still connected to Potter?"

"I - I don't understand, the connection - is only between - your two wands -"

"lie!"

"Please - I beg you -"

Harry saw the white hand raising the wand, felt the raging rage of Voldemort, saw the frail old man writhing in agony on the ground -

The torture lasted for several days.

After an unknown amount of time, the cold and pain became bearable habits, and together with the shackles, they formed a chapter called life.

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

Harry had never really felt the historical glory of the castles around him. Earlier, he would have wondered what the castle the Queen of England gave Granger would look like.

Like Hogwarts? Or Buckingham Palace?

Or maybe Rosier Manor?

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

He had hoped for it - but now, with Dumbledore's death, that curiosity and beauty was gone.

All that is left is the darkness of day and night and the endless anger and groans from the other half of my soul.

----

"Harry—Harry—Harry!"

It felt like someone was calling me in a dream.

Gradually the sound became clearer and clearer.

Finally, standing in front of the glassless window of the castle, feeling the cold wind, Harry came to his senses.

He rubbed his forehead. The pain was much less than it was a week ago.

Now, there is only a slight sting and a long period of silence.

"Harry, go back inside." Hermione stepped forward and whispered, "Are you still thinking about leaving?"

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

"It's all right," said Harry, his voice trembling. "I'm probably looking better than Ollivander's."

These days, he has told others all the memories he has seen about Voldemort.

"Harry, stop trying to contact You-Know-Who." Hermione said seriously, "You need to practice more on Occlumency. You have only mastered the basics of this magic, but you are not yet proficient in it."

"These days, You-Know-Who has taken over the Ministry of Magic, newspapers, Hogwarts, and most of the wizarding world. There are servants everywhere in Europe, Africa, and America. Don't let him take over your mind anymore."

Harry didn't answer.

He felt confused.

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

Everyone's face was filled with unrelieved sadness.

However, there is still some good news - at least everyone they know is alive - for now.

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

The castle was badly damp and the ground floor was uninhabitable.

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

Ron, Ginny, Koyalt, and Owen.

No one speaks.

There was a fire in the fireplace to dry the room and drive away the cold.

The sunlight shines through the broken window frames, sprinkling onto the rotten wooden floor in patches, forming patterns of light and dark, telling of the desolation that leaves no time for sadness.

The lime on the walls of the room had peeled off badly, revealing the rough stones underneath. These stones appeared uneven due to years of erosion, and there was mold in the corners due to years of moisture.

In front of them was a prefectural wooden table and chairs. They were just ordinary tables and chairs, but in this environment, they looked desolate.

There are many newspapers on the table.

Magic newspapers from all genres.

They were all collected by Dobby.

The one right above is, of course, The Daily Prophet.

<divclass="contentadv">Everyone present read it several times.

The news of Dumbledore's death has caused an uproar in the wizarding world in recent days.

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

Because apart from his confrontation with him, Dumbledore made unparalleled contributions to the wizarding world, including several wars and academics, including his tenure as headmaster of Hogwarts. Although some pure-blood wizards always 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 keep thinking about Dumbledore being alive, couldn't help but think about Snape, the traitor, who would choose 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 direction for the future.

Even though a week had passed, the feeling still hadn't dissipated.

The room was silent. They had been mostly silent these days, except when Sirius or Lupin came to visit, then they would become slightly 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 did not have much time to spend with them.

Harry reached over 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 headlines told him that the Ministry of Magic had put pressure on the Daily Prophet because there was no news about Voldemort in the paper.

The most important thing after that is page 10, which contains an obituary.

Written by Elphias Doge.

Suddenly - Harry remembered that Owen had said at the wedding that day that Elphias Doge would write Dumbledore's obituary - 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 part of a plan?

If it was before, he would have asked immediately. But now, he did not ask immediately. If Dumbledore did not tell him, there must be a hidden meaning. If this plan is to deal with Voldemort, then the fewer people who know about it, the better. This is the only way to prevent the news from leaking out.

Harry couldn't help but start to look at the problem from a global perspective.

Thinking of this, Harry continued reading.

——In memory of Albus Dumbledore.

I met Albus Dumbledore on the Hogwarts train the day I entered Hogwarts, when I was eleven years old.

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

We were undoubtedly attracted to each other because we both felt like outsiders.

I contracted dragon pox shortly before I entered school. Although it is no longer contagious, my face was covered with pimples and my skin turned 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 earlier, his father, Percival, had made headlines for the brutal attack on three young Muggles. Albus never tried to deny that his father (who was serving a life sentence in Azkaban) was guilty of the crime. On the contrary, when I mustered up the courage to ask him, he made it clear to me that he knew his father was guilty.

Beyond that, Dumbledore refused to discuss the sad event, despite many attempts to get him to talk.

Some even praised his father's behavior and concluded that Albus was also a Muggle-hater. But they were wrong. Anyone who knew Albus could attest that he never showed any anti-Muggle tendencies. In fact, his firm defense of Muggle rights later 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 his first year he was no longer seen as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as the smartest student the school had ever seen.

We 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 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 Nicolas Flamel, the well-known historian Bathilda Bagshot, and the magic theorist Adelbert Wolffling.

Several of his papers have appeared in academic journals such as Transfiguration Today, Innovations in Spells, and The Practical Potions Master.

Dumbledore was a great success at Hogwarts. Before he graduated, he was already more famous than all the professors. His future seemed bright. The only question was when he would become 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 be a minister.

Three years after we entered school, Albus's brother Aberforth also came to Hogwarts. The two brothers were different. Aberforth never liked to study. Moreover, he liked dueling and did not like to solve problems through rational negotiation, which was also unlike Albus.

However, some people say that the two brothers do not have a good relationship.

This is also not true. Although they have very different personalities, they get along well with each other.

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.

When Albus and I left Hogwarts, we planned to travel the world together, as was the tradition at the time, visiting and observing wizards abroad before pursuing our own careers.

However, tragedy struck.

Just the day before we set off, Albus' mother Kendra passed away, and Albus became the head of the family and the breadwinner.

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

Albus had to take care of a pair of younger siblings, and his family was financially tight, so it was impossible for him to travel with me.

That’s the time in our lives when we have the least contact.

I wrote to Albus describing the extraordinary experiences I had had on my travels, from escaping the Greek Chimera to visiting the alchemists' experiments in Egypt.

This was perhaps unkind of me, for his letters contained very little information about his daily life.

I guess for such a brilliant wizard as him, that must have been frustratingly tedious.

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

I was extremely shocked when I heard this. Although Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, her mother had just passed away and she suffered this blow again. Ariana's two brothers could not get over it for a long time.

All those who were close to Albus, and I am fortunate to count myself among them, agree that Ariana's death, and the responsibility that Albus felt for it (for which he was, of course, not actually guilty), haunted him for the rest of his life.

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

Albus was more silent than before, and his mood was much heavier.

To his great pain, Ariana's death, far from bringing Albus and Aberforth closer together, drove them further apart. (This distance gradually improved, and they later reestablished a relationship that was certainly friendly, if not close.)

Since then, Albus rarely spoke about his parents and Ariana, and his friends also avoided talking about them.

In the years that follow, his brilliant achievements will be described.

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

It is also said that no wizarding duel has ever matched the one between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945.