94 hp Diagon Alley

When I raised my hand in front of my face to see if I could see the five fingers, a miracle happened.

A bright silver light appeared directly in front of him, passing through the trees.I don't know what the light source is, but it moves soundlessly, and the silver light seems to be floating towards him.

He jumped up and raised Hermione's wand, his voice freezing in his throat.He squinted his eyes, because the silver light was so dazzling that the bushes in front of him became black silhouettes, and the thing was still approaching...

Then the source of light floated out from behind an oak tree, a silvery white doe, bright as moonlight, treading gracefully on the ground, still soundless, leaving no hooves on the soft white snow.It came towards him, holding high its beautiful head, with big eyes and long eyelashes.

Harry stared at the creature in amazement, not because of its strangeness, but because of its inexplicable familiarity and familiarity.He felt like he'd been waiting for it, only forgot about it once, and only now remembered their date.His urge to call Hermione had been so strong just now, but it was gone all at once.He knew, and he could bet his life that it came to him, and it came to him specifically.

They looked at each other for a long time, then it turned and walked away.

"No." He said, his voice hoarse from not using it for a long time. "Come back!"

The doe continued to walk leisurely through the woods, and soon the stripes of thick black trunks were printed on its bright body.For the tense second Harry hesitated, alarm bells rang softly: it could be a ruse, a decoy.But instinct, an irresistible instinct, told him it wasn't black magic.He chased after it.

The snow crunched under Harry's feet, but the doe moved soundlessly through the woods because it was only light.It led him further and further into the forest.Harry walked quickly, trusting that when the doe stopped it would let him get close to it, and then it would talk, and the voice would say what he needed to know.

At last the doe stopped and turned its beautiful head to Harry again.Harry rushed over, a question burning in his mind, but just as he opened his mouth to ask it, it disappeared.

Though darkness had engulfed it whole, its bright image was imprinted on his retinas, blurring his vision.As he lowered his eyes, the image grew brighter, disorienting him.Now, fear seized him: its existence meant safety.

"Lumos!" he whispered, and the tip of his staff glowed.

The image of the doe faded away with each blink of Harry's eye.He stood there listening to the sounds of the forest, the distant snapping of branches, the soft rustle of the night snow.Will he be attacked?Would it lead him into an ambush?It seemed that someone was looking at him from a place where the wand could not shine. Was it his imagination?

Harry raised his wand a little higher, no one was rushing at him, no green light shot from behind the tree.Why did the doe bring him here?

Something flickered in the fluorescent light of his wand, and Harry turned sharply. It was just a small frozen pond.He held his wand up and looked, the cracked black surface gleaming.

He stepped forward cautiously and looked down, his deformed shadow and the light of his wand reflected on the ice.But there was something shining beneath that thick, hazy gray ice, a big silver cross...

His heart beat in his throat: he ran down the edge of the pond, tilting his wand so that the light could reach the bottom as much as possible.There was a flash of crimson light...it was a sword with a ruby ​​gleaming on the hilt...Gryffindor's sword lay at the bottom of the pool in the forest.

He almost stopped breathing, staring down at it.How is this possible?How did it lie in the pond in the forest, so close to where they camped?Was it some unknown magic that drew Hermione here?Or was the doe guarding the pond (like a Patronus, he thought)?Or was the sword purposely put in the pond after they came?If so, who was it that wanted to hand Harry the sword?He pointed his wand again at the surrounding bushes, searching for a figure or a twinkling eye, but found no one.But with a hint of new fear mingled with the excitement, he turned his attention to the sword lying quietly on the bottom of the pool under the ice.

Pointing at the silver sword with his wand, he said softly, "The sword is flying!"

The sword was motionless, and he did not expect it to come flying.If it were that easy, the sword would be lying on the ground waiting for him to pick it up instead of in the depths of the frozen pond.He began to walk around the circle of ice, trying to remember the last time the sword fell into his hand by itself, when he was in a critical situation and was calling for help.

"Help me." He said softly, but the sword was still lying on the bottom of the pool, cold and motionless.

Harry started walking again, asking himself what Dumbledore had said the last time he had the sword? "Only a true Gryffindor can pull it out of the hat." What are the unique qualities of a Gryffindor?A small voice in Harry's head replied: "It's their daring, daring, and chivalry that makes Gryffindors stand out."

Harry stopped in his tracks and let out a long sigh, the mist of his breath quickly dissipating in the cold air.He knew what to do, and if he had to confess, he'd expected it from the moment he saw the sword lying under the ice.

He scanned the surrounding woods again, but was sure now that no one was coming to attack him.If anyone wanted to attack him, he could do it when he was walking alone through the forest, and he had plenty of opportunities when he was inspecting the pond.The only reason to procrastinate right now is because the thing to do is too unpleasant.

Harry began to remove the layers of clothing with uncontrollable hands.Was there any "chivalry" in it, he thought gloomily, unless it counted as chivalry without asking Hermione to do it for him.

An owl hooted somewhere while undressing, and he thought of Hedwig painfully.He was shaking now and his teeth were chattering, but he continued to strip down until he was standing barefoot on the snow in his underwear.He put the bag containing his wand, Sirius' mirror shard, and the old snitch on the pile of clothes, and pointed Hermione's wand at the ice.

"Fractured."

A bang pierced the silence like a bullet: the ice surface cracked, and large gray ice blocks swayed on the water.The water wasn't that deep, Harry judged, but he had to be completely submerged to get the sword.

No amount of overthinking will make the task ahead easier or warm the water.Harry walked to the edge of the pond and put Hermione's wand on the ground, leaving it still lit.Then, trying not to think about how cold he would be, or how he would be shivering soon, he jumped in.

Every pore in his body screamed in protest, the air in his lungs seemed to freeze, and the icy water reached his shoulders.He could hardly breathe, and he was shaking so badly that the water shook him to the bank.He searched for the sword blade with his numb feet, only wanting to dive once.

Harry gasped and shivered, delaying the moment of immersion second by second.Finally, he said to himself that he could not do it, so he mustered up all his courage and dived into the water.

The piercing cold tormented him like fire.His mind seemed to freeze as he dived to the bottom of the pool in the dark icy water, reaching for his sword with his arms outstretched.Fingers caught the hilt, and he drew it up.

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit his forehead, and he felt Voldemort's intense anger at this moment in the cold pool water.The violent mood swings made it hard for Harry to breathe, and he kicked and tried to push himself out of the water, only to bump into the stone wall of the pond.

Harry's scar seemed to be torn open again.The real scene around him disappeared, he was Voldemort, and he was now in a warmer country, about south of England.A dilapidated cell, and a thin hard bed, nothing else.

Voldemort's anger erupted, and he rummaged through the empty cell like crazy, using magic to destroy every corner that could hide things.

A line of blood-red words emerged on the wall: "You can't win. That wand will never be yours."

Frustrated and teased, Voldemort left Harry's scar burning like a branding iron as he thrashed and struggled to breathe.As if the entire head was being clamped by sharp claws, stars began to appear in his mind, thinking, he was about to drown, there was no hope, there was nothing he could do, the arms holding him must be the god of death...

He woke up, coughing, retching, drenched, and colder than he had ever been.Not far away, another person was panting, coughing, and staggering around.Hermione arrived just in time again, just like when the snake came...but it didn't sound like her, the muffled cough, the heavy footsteps...

Harry didn't have the strength to look up to see who had rescued him.All he could do was raise his trembling hands to his head and touch the scar that was still a little hot.At this time, a panting voice sounded above his head.

"You—you—are you sick?"

Only the shock of hearing the voice could give Harry the strength to get up.Trembling violently, he stood up unsteadily.Before him stood Ron, clothed but soaked, with hair sticking to his face, holding the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and his wand in the other.

"What the hell," Ron gasped, "is your scar hurting again? Do you have to jump in at this time?"

Harry couldn't answer.The silver doe was nothing compared to Ron's reappearance, really nothing.He couldn't believe it.he is cold