bacchusnovels Chapter 332 Voldemort's Wilderness Survival
Chapter 332 Voldemort's Wilderness Survival
Chapter 332 Voldemort's Wilderness Survival
Harry didn't fall into a deep sleep until dawn, and when he woke up, he found the dormitory empty.
He put on his clothes, walked down the spiral staircase, and entered the common room. The quiet atmosphere was the only one there. Ron was rubbing his stomach and eating mint toad candy, while Hermione was busy spreading her homework all over three tables, and Sophia was writing something on a table with her head down.
"Where did everyone go?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Let's go! It's the first day of the holiday, remember?" Ron looked Harry up and down, spreading his hands with a somewhat helpless expression. "It's almost lunchtime, I was just about to go wake you up."
Harry slumped into a chair by the fireplace, while snowflakes continued to fall gently outside the window. Crookshanks lay sprawled before the fireplace, like a large, turmeric-colored leather blanket, quiet and content.
"You look really bad," Hermione said, looking at Harry with concern.
"I'm fine," Harry replied with a forced smile, but his voice betrayed his exhaustion.
"Harry, listen to me," Hermione said, exchanging a glance with Ron. "What we heard yesterday must have upset you, but most importantly, you can't do anything foolish."
"Like what?" Harry asked back.
"For example, go find Blake," Ron said incisively, his tone serious.
Harry could tell they had rehearsed this conversation while he was asleep. He remained silent, his heart heavy with suppressed emotion.
"You won't, will you, Harry?" Hermione pressed.
"It's not worth dying for Blake," Ron insisted.
Sophia remained silent, engrossed in the letters on the table, occasionally glancing up to keep her eyes fixed on Harry, unwilling to miss any subtle change in his expression.
Harry looked at his two friends, who seemed completely unable to comprehend his inner struggle.
"Do you know what I see and hear every time a Dementor gets too close to me?" he finally asked.
His tone gradually became heavy.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, their faces showing fear, and shook their heads.
"I heard my mother screaming, pleading with Voldemort. If you heard your own mother scream like that before she was killed, you wouldn't forget it so quickly. Once you learned that someone supposedly her friend had betrayed her, causing Voldemort to hunt her down..."
"There's nothing you can do!" Hermione interjected in alarm, her voice trembling. "The Dementors will catch Black and send him back to Azkaban—he deserves it!"
"You heard what Fudge said. Black wasn't affected by Azkaban like most people. It wasn't a terrible punishment for him like it was for others."
"So what are you trying to say?" Ron asked nervously. "Do you want to kill Blake one by one or something?"
"Don't talk nonsense," Hermione said in a panicked voice, "Harry doesn't want to kill anyone, does he, Harry?"
Upon hearing Hermione's words, Sophia unusually shifted her gaze from Harry to Hermione.
Hermione's tone reminded her of something that had happened not long before she came here.
She said she wanted to form a rock band at Hogwarts.
Sean agreed, but Hermione spoke to her in this tone.
"Don't talk nonsense," she said, her eyes wide and her tone incredulous. "You don't want Mom and Dad to be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow, and be talked about behind their backs at the Ministry of Magic, do you, Sophia?"
Sophia didn't answer then, just as Harry doesn't now.
To be honest, she felt a little sorry for Uncle Harry.
Harry didn't know what he wanted to do. He only knew one thing: Black was at large, and he was powerless to stop it.
This was unbearable for him.
“Malfoy knows,” he said suddenly. “Remember what he said to me in Potions class? ‘If it were me, I would definitely seek revenge. I would personally hunt him down.’”
"You listen to Malfoy, but not to our advice?" Ron said angrily, his voice filled with resentment. "Listen—do you know what Pettigrew's mother got after Black did it? Dad told me—the Order of Merlin, First Class, and one of Pettigrew's fingers, in a box. It was the biggest piece of remains they could find. Black is a madman, Harry, he's very dangerous—" "Malfoy's father must have told him," Harry continued, completely ignoring Ron's objections, "He's in Voldemort's inner circle—"
"Can we say 'mysterious man' instead?" Ron interrupted angrily.
So it's clear that the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort.
"And Malfoy would love to see you blown to pieces like Pettigrew!" Ron said angrily. "Wake up, Harry. Malfoy just wants you dead before the Quidditch match even starts."
“Harry, please,” Hermione whispered, her eyes glistening with tears and pleading, “be rational. Black has done something very, very terrible, but you can’t—you can’t take the risk, that’s exactly what Black wants. Oh, Harry, if you go to him, that’s just letting Black succeed. Your mom and dad definitely don’t want you to take that risk, do they? They certainly don’t want you to go to Black!”
Sophia felt that Hermione's mother had become even more "mom-like".
"I'll never know what they want," Harry replied coldly. "Because of Black, I've never had a chance to speak a word to them."
A silence fell over the three of them. Crookshank stretched lazily by the fireplace, his claws gently flexing. Ron's pocket trembled slightly; Scabbers inside was also restless.
Ron was clearly trying to change the subject. "I said," he said with an awkward smile, "it's the holidays! Christmas is almost here! We—we should go see Hagrid, we haven't seen him in ages!"
"No!" Hermione immediately refused. "Harry can't leave the castle, Ron—"
"Okay, let's go." Harry suddenly sat up straight and said indignantly, "I can also ask him why he never mentions Black when talking about my mom and dad!"
Ron was clearly taken aback by Harry's determination. He tried to turn the tide again, "Or how about we play a game of Wizards vs. Zombies, or Plants vs. Zombies? I heard Professor Phillips recently released a new DLC."
"No, I'm going to Hagrid." Harry's voice was firm and unwavering.
The group tacitly stopped arguing, turned around and went back to their dormitory to get their cloaks, then climbed out of the portrait cave.
As the portrait opened, Sir Cadogan brandished his sword and shouted, "Halt! Let's duel, you yellow-bellied bastards!" But they had already walked away without looking back.
They walked out of the empty castle and stepped into the cold winter wind.
The snow on the lawn was as crystalline as powder, and the footsteps of the group left shallow tracks in the snow. Thin ice had formed on the edges of their soaked socks and cloaks, and the cold was biting. Every tree in the Forbidden Forest was adorned with silver frost, making it shimmer and shine. Hagrid's cabin in the distance looked like a cake covered in icing.
Ron went up and knocked on the door, but no one answered.
They looked at each other.
Forest ban.
The Forbidden Forest was shrouded in the stillness and chill of winter, its atmosphere more desolate than usual, filled with mystery and danger. Snowflakes fell gently like goose feathers, covering the branches of every towering ancient tree, which drooped heavily, bearing the weight of winter.
In the forest, the trees are tall and straight, their trunks covered with ancient cracks and moss. Thick snow covers the ground, and the once soft soil is now hard and cold, making a slight "crunching" sound when stepped on. The tree roots are intertwined, like writhing giant pythons, half-hidden under the snow, occasionally revealing sharp edges.
A damp, chilly air filled the air, carrying a faint scent of decaying leaves and earth. The winter wind whistled through the forest, making a "whoosh" sound, like the soft whispers of some mysterious creature in the shadows. Occasionally, a few low bird calls echoed from the shadows of the forest, their sounds seeming particularly distant in this snow-white world, as if they had traveled from the depths of time.
Deep in the forbidden forest, there stands an old wooden cabin. It is almost completely hidden by the surrounding towering trees and thick snow.
This sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but it's not.
The house wasn't inhabited by a witch, but by a strange man.
At this moment, the strange man was squatting in the snow, intently starting a fire.
He was thin and wore a tattered cloak made of animal hide. His already pale face was reddened by the cold wind. His hands were covered in mud as he deftly piled some dry branches into small heaps.
"Flames are raging!"
He muttered something under his breath, and a flame suddenly landed on the dry branch, making a crackling sound, and then the flame slowly rose up.
The man's gaze was fixed on the flickering flames, a rare look of satisfaction on his face.
The cold wind whispered in his ear, whistling through the woods, but the light and heat of the campfire briefly shielded him from the winter chill.
He stretched out his hands, trying to draw some warmth from the flames.
The forbidden forest in the depths of winter seemed colder than usual, with thick snow covering the ground and making it seem as if the whole world had been sealed off.
However, the Forbidden Forest never allows people to enjoy peace for too long.
His ears twitched slightly as he caught faint footsteps in the distance, followed by a soft rustling of leaves, as if something was quietly approaching.
He suddenly raised his head, his gaze sharp, fixed on the shadows in the distant woods.
His senses were heightened in that instant, and he quickly drew his wand from his waist and held it in his hand.
"Who's there?" The man's voice was unusually hoarse.
The forest was silent, save for the howling of the cold wind and the crackling of flames, but the lurking presence in the darkness did not stop approaching.
The man's eyes were fixed ahead, and he gripped the magic wand even tighter.
Suddenly, a pair of eerie green eyes flashed in the darkness, followed by a soft "crunch" sound on the snow, as if some huge figure was stepping on the snow and approaching him step by step.
The man's expression instantly turned serious. He stood up and slowly retreated back to the fire.
"Come out!" he shouted, his voice ringing out clearly in the silent forest.
The shadows of the trees swayed, and a dark figure slowly emerged from the shadows. It was a huge creature, its entire body covered with thick gray-white fur, its limbs strong and powerful, and its eyes gleaming with a cold green light.
It's a werewolf.
Seeing this, the man breathed a sigh of relief, his expression relaxed a bit, and he put the wand back into his waistband.
The werewolf growled softly, staring at the magic wand at the man's waist, but did not immediately launch an attack.
"Shut up, you stupid wolf," the man snapped coldly, then pointed to the campfire beside him. "If you want to warm up, come over here slowly."
The werewolf stopped, growling softly, hesitant. The cold winter night and the warmth of the fire were clearly very attractive to it, but it remained vigilant.
"What are you waiting for?" The man sneered, a hint of impatience flashing in his eyes. "Do you think I'd let you leave here alive?"
In that instant, the man drew his wand and swiftly chanted a spell: "Crutch!"
A green beam of magic shot straight at the werewolf, whose massive body was instantly struck by the magic. It let out a terrible scream and collapsed to the ground.
Its body convulsed violently, its claws scratching helplessly at the snow, its eyes filled with pain and fear.
"You pathetic beast," the man said coldly, looking at the werewolf struggling in agony, "you thought I'd let you take over my fire? Foolish." He walked step by step toward the werewolf lying on the ground, his wand pointed directly at it, his icy voice filled with murderous intent, "Stop struggling, it'll be over soon."
The man's wand flickered, and he prepared to cast a deadly killing spell to help this vile beast get rid of its troubles.
However, just as he was about to cast the Killing Curse, the werewolf suddenly let out a hoarse whisper filled with pain: "No—don't kill me! I'm Greyback's man, you can't kill me!"
The man abruptly stopped, his brow furrowing. "Greyborough?"
The werewolf nodded, still breathing heavily, the lingering pain causing his body to tremble. "Fenrir Greyback. He's my boss—if you kill me—he'll never let you get away with it."
Upon hearing this, the man chuckled.
"Even if he were standing right in front of me, he wouldn't dare speak to me like that." The man paused for a moment in mid-air, his wand still pointing at the werewolf lying on the ground, panting.
He sneered when he heard the other party mention Graybuck's name.
"Fenrir Greyback?" He repeated the name slowly, a hint of contempt and disdain in his voice. "Even if he stood right in front of me, he wouldn't dare speak to me like that."
The werewolf's body trembled even more violently, its eyes filled with fear and despair.
It knew its life was in the hands of this cold-blooded man's every whim. Pain was still tearing at its nerves, but it feared the man before it even more than the physical pain.
The man raised his arm high, his wand almost touching the snowflakes falling in the night sky.
The incantation for the Killing Curse was almost out of his mouth, but at that moment, his eyes flashed slightly, and he suddenly thought of something, stopping his movements.
He lowered his gaze and re-examined the werewolf at his feet.
"Fenrir Greyback," he muttered to himself, his voice thoughtful. Then, a slight smile played on his lips, a smile that seemed to be both mockery and a decision.
"I'll let you off the hook today, and have that guy Graybury come and apologize to me in person," the man added with a sneer. "Otherwise, you won't be so lucky next time."
Upon hearing the man's words, the werewolf hurriedly nodded, as if he had been given a second chance at life. He struggled to his feet, his movements frantic, his only thought being to escape this terrifying place. The snow crunched under his feet, seemingly urging him to leave quickly.
The instant he turned around, out of instinct, the werewolf couldn't help but glance back warily at the man who had almost taken his life.
The bright firelight shone on the man's face, and suddenly, the werewolf's pupils contracted sharply—he realized that the man's face had no nose!
Fear flowed like icy water down the werewolf's back, making him freeze for a moment.
This terrifying discovery made him even more panicked, and he scrambled and stumbled as he continued to flee into the darkness until his figure completely disappeared into the shadows and the woods.
The man watched the werewolf's figure disappear with cold eyes, his expression remaining unmoved. He slowly turned his head, his gaze falling once more on the campfire in front of him. The flames illuminated his pale, noseless face, making him appear even more eerie.
"Greybuck—the Anti-Werewolf Act—" he muttered to himself, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Looks like we'll have to meet sooner or later."