[HP] Harry and the Platypus go to Gringotts

"There are really no flowers in bloom this season, but we are still doing business." The florist's accent is so strong in Liverpool, it took her a while to realize what the other party said, "I usually use Vine leaves and berry plants for flower arrangements."

"I was just a little curious, so I walked in and took a look."

"Standard voice, fancy enough." The boss whistled, "I haven't heard it in this town for many years... Is it a tourist from London? You didn't catch up with the good times, young lady. Midsummer Rigo Derek Valley is the most beautiful view."

"I grew up in Surrey," Harry corrected, "but went to school in Scotland."

The boss didn't care that Harry didn't plan to buy anything, and he introduced her to every complacent commodity while he was closing the shop.She nodded now and then to show she was listening. "The weather is terrible." After a pause, the boss complained.

"I think the weather in the valley is fine," she said, "warmer than Scotland."

"Usually it should have snowed in mid-December, but this year it didn't know what happened. There wasn't even a drop of freezing rain. If you ask me, Christmas isn't really Christmas without snow on the ground."

"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, maybe it will snow tonight."

"If you are an outsider, you don't know. It's because our place is warmer than usual this year. The homeless people in Liverpool have flocked to us. Although the town is always safe, girls should be more careful when they go out alone. Don't go out after ten o'clock. Go to church, where the bums sleep. Well, I'm going home, and I wish you a happy new year, miss."

"Happy New Years to you too, sir."

Harry sits in the bar until 10:30 in front of a plate of yam chips, and then even the bar closes – country life, ah, country life.It was late at night, and there were no pedestrians walking on the street, but she walked alone in the valley, and visited the whole village, from the outlying woods to the post office, shops, and churches in the village, although she only looked at it from the outside. Look at these buildings.Next, Harry went to the cemetery behind the church - in the flower shop, she had thought about taking Christmas flowers, but had finally dismissed the idea.These are not my parents, she thought, standing in front of the white marble tombstone that gleamed in the night.Not even the two bones buried under the stele.She had been listening to the priests at the community funerals sing about the peaceful rest after the end of life. They all said that death ended all suffering and took the dead far away.There, the souls of the dead will continue to laugh, toast, and hug each other, forever and ever... But if what people get after death is not sweetness and peace, but continued suffering, or an endless cold nothingness, then what should we do? what to do?

I shouldn't be thinking too much.Harry left the cemetery, and in the middle of the square stood an obelisk full of names. When she approached, it became a statue of three people: a man with disheveled hair and glasses, a long-haired, beautiful and kind woman, And a baby girl with no scars, smiling happily in her mother's arms.

...and finally the house.

Strictly speaking, it is no longer a house.Much of the house still stood, completely covered in black ivy.It was brown, the same color as the neighbors, only duller.The right half of the top room was blown up, that must be where the spell bounced.Harry looked up to see the crumbling brick wall above him, jagged and gnawing at the moon.Beneath it was waist-deep weeds, and the hedges were unkempt and moss-covered.At least no one had knocked it down and rebuilt it, even though it stood so desolate and lonely between two perfectly intact and regular houses, as if abandoned by the whole world.She stretched out her hand and tugged at the heavily rusted iron door. The door frame was stuck for a while, and then it opened suddenly with a harsh noise, and rust debris fell down.Harry held up his wand, and she still felt as naked as the day she was born, despite her layers of coats, sweaters, hoodies, and shirts.

What is she afraid of?It's so silly to be afraid of a murder that's been 12 years past.After feeling a little braver—at least, brave enough to put her wand back in her pocket—she sidled through the door, and once inside she was in the living room.Everything was old and covered in a thick layer of dust.This is where my father was killed.

Harry turned his head to the left and saw the stairs going up.She knew what was upstairs, the bedroom, the crib, and her mother's death.Suddenly the silence of the place became unbearable, and her courage was exhausted. She could no longer take a step forward, but she did not want to leave.She should catch the last train and get a good night's sleep on it, or go to a hotel in the village—or no, and papers are required to stay in a hotel.Besides, she'd better stop scaring people with that face, after an old lady mistook Harry for her mother and gave her the ghostly look.Harry pulled up the hood of his sweater, wrapped his coat tightly and lay down on the sofa, sending a cloud of dust into the air.The sofa was not long enough, so she could only sleep on her side with her legs curled up.

She had a dream that night.I was standing in the living room of Potter's house - not a ruin, but an intact house.The ceiling was decorated with streamers, holly and mistletoe, apple pie, roast chicken, ham and silverware were neatly arranged on the table, and a fire crackled in the fireplace.The draft in the chimney carried flecks of red glowing ash flying upwards, and Harry stared at the fire for a long time until his eyes ached and wept.She raised her sleeve to wipe it, when the woman's soft hand rested on her shoulder.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Have you forgotten me, Harry?"

Harry turned to look at the woman's face.I never knew you, how can I forget?She wanted to answer like this, but she couldn't say it anyway.The woman's hair was curly crimson, and her eyes were the color of emeralds.She looks like a slightly out-of-shape version of herself.

"Who the hell are you?" Please don't say it, Harry prayed desperately in his heart not to tell me.For some reason, she knew that the answer to this question would be a sharp sword piercing her heart and stirring it fiercely.The woman didn't answer, but just stroked Harry's face with her snow-white hands, and lightly brushed her nose and lips with her fingertips.These hands are so cold.Harry couldn't help shaking.A pair of lifeless hands, a pair of hands that symbolize death.

"It's a lie, you're not her. It's all a lie," she told herself. "It's just a dream."

"Yeah," the woman smiled sadly, "it's just a dream." She pressed a cold kiss on Harry's cheek, turned and walked away.

"No, don't go, don't go - I won't let you go! I need you...I've tried so hard all this time, but I can't do it alone!" Harry shouted after her, Yet she turned a deaf ear.The door closed behind the woman, leaving only an illusory silence. "Please—don't leave me, don't leave me..." Harry begged on his knees, though he knew she had left him forever, many years ago.

Harry woke up shaking, feeling something wet, not tears, soak his sleeve.She subconsciously wanted to get up and check, thinking that it was the blood dripping from the wound on her forehead 12 years ago, but the blood would not be so cold.

It's snow, it's snowing.

Snowflakes floated in through the blown open window, floated on her face, and melted due to the heat of her body.Did you wake me up?Harry walked to the window and looked out, a chilly fragrance that could only be felt outdoors came over his face.A thin layer of snow covered the grass that had long lost its greenness and covered it with a white blanket.It turned out that there was a crack in the wall, through which the wind whistled hollowly, like her soul.A little bit of sunlight shines through the cracked walls. Godric’s Valley is so pure and beautiful at this moment, the world is only pure black and white: the white is snow, the windows, buildings and ground covered by snow, and the black is the trunk The shadows cast by trees, bushes and houses, and the sky is a light gray that transitions between the two.Snowflakes are so fair, as in Joyce's book, that they fall softly from the sky, like the end of all life, upon all living and dead.There is not much snow under it, and maybe it will melt away when the sun is fully up.

The morning light made the stairs lose their magic, and she was no longer as frightened as she had been the night before.She climbed up the stairs, and the bedroom was as dilapidated as the downstairs, just as she had imagined: a double bed, a baby cradle painted light blue, a pine wooden box at the foot of the bookcase... It took even less effort to explore the room than she usually does Dressing mirror, however, wooden box.Harry bit his lips tightly. The magic of secrecy was cast on it, and most of it had expired over the years, so she opened it easily—it was neatly filled with many letters.Out of respect for the deceased's privacy, it was apparently not opened for 12 years.In those letters, she read about seeing her father win Quidditch and couldn't wait to tell his parents; about him marrying his mother and inviting friends and relatives to the wedding; My own birth, reading about her speaking for the first time, reading about her parents celebrating her first birthday...

She sat on the floor and read the letters one by one until the words became blurred.The parchment slowly crumpled under Harry's fingers and eventually rolled into a ball in her palm.She couldn't read anymore, and it seemed as if all the letters of the alphabet, and all the sentence patterns they were connected into, didn't exist anymore.Harry looked out the window for help, but the window was frosted.She threw away the scrap of paper in her palm and walked over, her hands pressed against the cold glass, and now Harry could finally see clearly.Someone came out from the opposite room, the snow was still falling, and the carpet of white snow on the dry grass was getting heavier and heavier.The children ran out first, and soon their parents followed.The spell cast by the sorcerer in winter turns everyone back into children, who make snowmen, have snowball fights and laugh in the streets.She also had a happy time because of the snow.When he was in elementary school, whenever it snowed, Harry never went out during the day, and after finishing the housework assigned by his aunt, he would just curl up in his little bed in the cupboard for a whole day, because he didn't want to be Dudley and his friends. A snowball target for everyone.When everyone was asleep, Harry would get dressed and tiptoe out of the cupboard to play in the snow in the park.The snow in the entire park was hers, and she was the real owner of the block at that time.Harry missed those times, but now leaning against the window and listening, the children's laughter could not touch her heart.She couldn't share their happiness, she just felt so cold, so cold.

My previous guess was wrong.The snow is getting bigger and bigger, and the snow has covered people's ankles.It doesn't matter, just let it go, as long as it makes the florist happy.Christmas should be white.Anyway, when the weather warms up, the snow will always melt.

But when will the snow stop?