Forget

It was almost dawn when Ron was carried out of Professor Slughorn's room.Many early risers witnessed this happening.Nothing travels faster in school than rumors.Although Madam Pomfrey issued an order to evict guests, more and more students came after hearing the news, almost blocking every corridor.

Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape have rushed to help Madam Pomfrey for treatment.The other professors are trying to evacuate the students, but it is obviously not effective.Professor Slughorn was already petrified. He really didn't know why the bottle of wine had a problem, and he didn't know whether to be thankful or afraid. His dormitory was carried out, which is not something to be happy about from any angle.But he really didn't dare to imagine what would happen if he and Harry drank that glass of wine at that time.

Draco stood behind the crowd, watching all this coldly.He has been trying to make himself calm, trying to make himself calm. He has already been mentally prepared for what will happen today. Although he seems to be very calm now, it is estimated that only he knows it. He has been hiding it for a long time. The throbbing of fear in my heart was about to move again.

The students around were whispering in low voices.No one thought that the cancellation of the trip to Hogsmeade could not stop this inexplicable and indiscriminate attack.It seems to be a deterrent, it seems to be a demonstration.

"I'm sure my mother will write again soon asking me to go home."

I don't know who said it first, and immediately got echoes.The more timid ones have already returned to the dormitory to pack their things.

Harry looked angrily at the students in front of him who just wanted to escape, but he couldn't do anything.He couldn't ask everyone to stand up and fight the terrible Dark Lord, whom everyone avoided, but he hated himself for being powerless a lot of the time.The Weasleys and Ginny were the first to arrive, and they didn't blame him, but Harry just felt he couldn't face them.The Weasleys really thought of him as family, but he always brought them disaster, endless disaster.

Draco saw it too.He saw the silent red-haired family, watching them worry about their family with an forced calm.The pure-blood betrayer Weasley, Draco was a little inexplicably jealous.He saw the angry Potter, saw Potter's eyes sweeping over everyone, saw Potter looking at him.

But Draco looked away.He even turned around to leave the crowd.He didn't dare to meet Potter's eyes, he didn't know if his eyes would betray him involuntarily.He just wanted to find a place where no one was around. He felt that there were many complicated emotions being turned up from the bottom of his heart, new and old, shrinking and fearful, and his teeth and claws seemed to tear him apart.

But why are people everywhere, people, people.

Draco endured almost uncontrollable irritability, walked through various corridors, passed by various classrooms, but there were people everywhere, and he couldn't find a place where there was no one.

He rushed all the way to the women's bathroom on the third floor, and finally got away from the crowd.He remembered the bathroom that no one wanted to come to, the one Potter had discovered about the Chamber of Secrets in second year.

Draco quickly turned on the tap, scooped up water and splashed it on his face and hair.The cold water slowly slid into his neck from the top of his head, but he couldn't feel any relief.He sat down on the floor slowly, leaning against the wall, listening to the splash of water from the open tap.

He has been working hard and trying to become stronger. From the first time he came out of the old house in Little Hangleton, he knew how difficult the road he was not allowed to choose was, and how many people he would face atrocious.He couldn't expect those waiting to see his jokes to reach out sympathetically to pull him out of the mire, and in fact he'd appreciate them if they didn't step on them.He couldn't refuse what the lord told him to do, just like he couldn't refuse to be branded as the Dark Lord.

Draco gently raised his hand, looking at the blurred palm prints.He didn't know whether it was because of the water vapor or his own eyes, he couldn't see clearly.

He suddenly felt terrified.Twice, already twice.These hands have almost been stained with blood twice.This blood comes from his classmates, or his teacher.

What about the soul?What will become of the soul?

Draco suddenly remembered a sentence from the black magic book that murder would split the soul.

What happens when the soul is split?Is what he's doing now counted as murder?

Draco's hands trembled slightly, and he covered his face with both hands and buried his head in his knees.

"Very few people come to my bathroom, they hate me." A voice drifted over, and Myrtle crouched next to Draco, looking up at him. "Are you hated too?"

"It's worse, I'm hated by myself." Draco replied sullenly, looking up at the ghost in front of him. "I seem to remember you."

Myrtle squealed happily. "Few remember me. You must be a good man.—The last one who remembers me is a good man."

"You guessed wrong." Draco replied muffled. "Who was the last one to remember you?"

"It's the handsome little guy from Gryffindor, with messy hair and a strange scar." Myrtle seemed to be recalling. "Everyone would just throw things at me, only he would listen to me. But then he stopped coming, and I started to be alone again."

"He's busy, maybe." Draco knew who she was talking about.At the same time, he suddenly became curious.At this time, Draco almost couldn't wait to know what the second-year Potter was thinking, what he was doing when he faced the secret room and the giant snake, and everyone refused to believe him. Why can he survive, why he will succeed in the end. "He...he was also troubled at the time."

"Troubled, no one wants to believe him. He can hear." Myrtle screamed again. "He could hear the monster—the monster who killed me, but no one believed him. They said he must be hallucinating."

"Then he must be very distressed." For some reason, Draco felt a little relieved.

"Actually, I think it's okay." Myrtle giggled. "I think you are more distressed now than he was then."

"Yes." Draco squeezed his fingers.

"Yes, I can see it. Ever since I became a ghost, I can feel everyone's feelings." Myrtle closed her eyes, and her expression instantly resembled that chattering divination professor. "I can feel that you are not as strong as him."

If he had heard someone say he was inferior to Potter before, Draco would have jumped up angrily.But this time, even Draco himself didn't expect, he calmed down instead.

"He's strong, and those ill-intentioned attacks are as insignificant to him as a bug sting. He told me he knew he was right," Myrtle said. "But I can feel that you are different from him. You are full of fear. I don't know where those fears come from, but it is terrible. You must be under a lot of pressure."

"Thank you." Draco replied softly.

"Why don't you cry?" Myrtle flew up gently, drawing circles around Draco. "A lot of people hate me for crying, but crying is very useful. I thought I would have good grades, graduate with glory, and have a decent job, but I died in the bathroom for no reason. I am really not reconciled. Fortunately, I can still cry. Crying really relaxes a lot, and even the sadness of death is diluted."

"Thank you." Draco smiled wearily. "But I can't seem to cry."