bacchusnovels Chapter 369 A Pure Smile
Chapter 369 A Pure Smile
Chapter 369 A Pure Smile
Late at night, the Gryffindor common room was quiet and still.
The fire in the fireplace had died down, with only a few wisps occasionally emitting a faint red glow, like stars about to fade, twinkling with lingering warmth. The air still carried the aroma of baked sweet potato pies and cream beer, with a hint of sweetness.
The sofa and armchairs were casually pushed aside, some pillows lay on the floor, piled up lazily, a few scarves were carelessly discarded and hung on the back of the chairs, there was a chessboard on the table that hadn't been tidied up yet, the chess pieces were lying over and scattered, and an open copy of "Hogwarts: A History of the School" lay on the coffee table, the pages slightly bent, as if turned by sweaty hands.
Moonlight streamed through the half-drawn curtains, casting blurry shadows on the soft carpet. In the portraits hanging on the wall, the figures quietly closed their eyes, seemingly unwilling to disturb this rare tranquility. Occasionally, a soft snore would come from the corner; it was a student who had stayed up all night sleeping on the sofa, a celebratory smile still lingering on their face.
Harry lay on his bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
Is it because he just won the Quidditch Cup and is still feeling excited?
Or was it because the mattress was too soft, making it difficult for him to find a comfortable position?
If one had to find a reasonable explanation for his restlessness, the most likely reason might be that he accidentally ate that "creative dish" that night: blueberry and chive pancakes with watermelon and scrambled eggs, which caused his stomach to churn and ache, making him constantly change positions in bed.
I couldn't fall asleep.
However, none of these were the real reasons why "Harry" couldn't sleep.
In fact, he was waiting for someone—a nemesis who had been a constant presence in his life for thirteen years.
The dormitory was deathly silent, with only the dull ticking of the old clock on the wall, rhythmic and oppressive.
【Hasn't he arrived yet?】
Harry felt a little anxious, his gaze wandering through the dimly lit bedroom, but it remained fixed on the tightly closed door.
He had lost count of how many times he had looked up at the door.
Every time he looked up, he could see Ron next door.
Ron was lying in bed with his mouth slightly open, and a little drool was unconsciously running down his cheek in his sleep.
Looking at him, Harry's anxiety subsided slightly in the comical scene, and he couldn't help but sigh softly.
It has to be admitted that you can already vaguely see the shadow of the "handsome guy" in Ron's face now.
Ron was tall, with a boyish air about him, and a few light freckles on his nose.
Even in the dim light, Harry's slightly reddish hair was still clearly visible, like a warm flame that stood out and softened against the cold hues of the night.
Ron's lips curled up slightly, as if he were experiencing something interesting in his dream. An unconscious smile hung on his face, making him look relaxed and cheerful.
If he could, Harry would love to use a little spell to sneak into Ron's dream and see what the little guy was dreaming about.
Perhaps it was him who replaced Harry as the key to winning the Quidditch Cup, or perhaps it was the hot apple pie that Mom served, or perhaps...—Mrs. Rosmerta.
She was a sexy lady, and Harry wholeheartedly agreed.
In addition, there was a rat locked in a cage in the corner—Banban.
To avoid Banban causing any more trouble for him and others during this special period, Ron put it in its cage before going to sleep.
At this moment, Banban was curled up in a corner of the cage, as if dead, motionless.
Its gray fur appeared dull and lifeless in the faint moonlight, and its limbs were tucked in, almost blending into the shadow of the cage.
Harry's gaze shifted from the freckles, focusing on the door for the seventh time tonight.
Maybe... he won't even come?
Or perhaps...not today?
A moment of hesitation flashed through Harry's mind, but he immediately dismissed it with a self-deprecating laugh.
No, he will definitely come.
If he misses such a great opportunity... I'd really despise him.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but the waiting process seemed to grow longer and longer, turning into torture.
After an unknown amount of time, a very faint sound came from outside the door, like a barely perceptible breeze.
Harry's heart clenched suddenly, and almost stopped beating at the same moment.
He closed his eyes tightly, kept his breathing calm, and pretended that he had entered a dream.
A dark figure appeared silently at the doorway, as if it were an extension of the night, light and swift.
The door was pushed open gently without making a sound. The dark figure slowly walked in, its footsteps barely touching the floor, as if it were stepping on silent air.
There was a faint, suffocating sound in the air, like a long robe rubbing against the ground, gently brushing past, yet clear as thunder in the silence.
Harry could feel the shadowy figure getting closer and closer, so close that he could almost smell a cold aura with a faint rusty odor, and a shadow loomed over him.
"Hello, little one."
It was an extremely hoarse voice, a voice Harry knew all too well.
If Riddle kept talking for three days and three nights without drinking a drop of water, he would probably end up with this voice.
Of course, this is only a rough estimate.
Harry, or rather Sean, doesn't believe that ghosts need to drink water, nor does he believe that ghosts go through puberty.
Voldemort looked at the boy lying on the bed, his eyes flashing with complex emotions.
Those usually cold eyes were now filled with an indescribable gaze, scrutinizing a long-lost, indelible mark—a mark that was true for both him and Harry.
"Are you just going to lie there quietly, waiting for me to reap all your spoils?" Voldemort sneered.
Then, his gaze slowly shifted to Harry's forehead, and without hesitation, he raised his hand and gently waved a slender wand.
There was not a breath of wind in the air, and there was almost no warning.
But in that instant, the scar on Harry's forehead suddenly split open, and drops of blood seeped out, gently dripping onto the sheets.
Voldemort lowered his head slightly, his gaze, like a snake, focused on the blood that was slowly flowing out, cold, ruthless, and filled with a chilling desire.
Without any hesitation, he reached out the container he had prepared beforehand and gently poured the blood into it.
"You'll never know how your blood will change you, and how it will change me," Voldemort whispered.
He didn't rush to leave, but instead immersed himself in that strange sense of satisfaction, standing quietly by "Harry's" bed, feeling the gradually rising chill in the air.
Finally, he raised his head, staring at the ceiling with a cold gaze and a slight smile on his lips.
"I will come back, Harry," Voldemort said softly. Then, he left the room silently, the door closing behind him, and the night returned to silence.
The little dwarf, fast asleep in its cage, was unaware that it had missed its only chance to communicate with its owner.
But "Harry," lying in bed, showed a long-lost smile.
His smile was as genuine as when he won the Quidditch Cup just hours earlier.
So innocent...that smile could even be featured in The Witcher Weekly and win the "Most Charming Smile Award" with a Galleon prize.
The next morning, sunlight streamed into the infirmary through the gaps in the curtains.
Harry opened his eyes, his head still a little fuzzy, the events of last night seeming somewhat hazy.
He stretched and tried to sit up, but felt a dull ache in his shoulders and arms, realizing that he might have actually been injured last night.
Looking around, the infirmary was quiet, except for the occasional footsteps in the corridor, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of disinfectant.
There were several books and a bottle of water piled on the bedside table, obviously left for him by someone last night.
Hali sat up with effort and found himself carefully wrapped in a thick blanket.
Without a doubt, this was something Sirius did last night.
But Harry didn't think so.
After briefly thanking Mrs. Pomfrey, he quickly headed toward the Gryffindor Tower.
Halfway there, he encountered Professor Phillips again.
Sean was frowning slightly, seemingly waiting for someone, but his gaze softened when he saw Harry.
"Good morning, Harry."
Harry paused for a moment, then smiled and said somewhat awkwardly, "Good morning, Professor. Last night—I went to the infirmary and couldn't get any refreshments."
Sean nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "It's alright, Harry. The most important thing is that you're okay now." He paused, then added, "Are you feeling better now?"
"I'm much better. In fact, I feel fine, just a bit unlucky." Harry shook his head, feeling a little anxious when he thought about his bad luck last night.
Could it be... that Trelawney's professor's prophecy is about to come true?
"Unlucky?" Sean raised an eyebrow, seemingly curious.
"Well, I mean, my foot hurts a little," Harry said, a little embarrassed.
Upon hearing this, Sean's lips curled into a slight smile, his tone tinged with amusement. "Harry, if you're feeling unwell, be sure to tell us, especially in your situation. You know, Quidditch stars' feet are worth a lot of money."
Harry felt a flush rise to his face upon hearing the teasing remark. He lowered his head and took a few steps back. "Yes, I will, Professor."
Sean looked at him and suddenly asked, "So where are you planning to go today?"
Harry paused for a moment, then thought for a second before replying, "I'm going to the Gryffindor Tower to rest and recover." He smiled, trying to appear less embarrassed. "I missed the celebrations last night, so I wanted to make it up to them."
Sean nodded slightly, a smile playing on his lips. "Alright, go ahead then, Harry. But remember, celebrations are for relaxation, but don't forget to rest too."
Harry smiled and nodded, feeling a warmth in his heart.
He felt both comforted and grateful for Sean's concern.
After thanking him again, he turned and walked toward the Gryffindor Tower.
I had only taken a few steps when I suddenly heard a deep incantation in my ear.
"Forget everything, and all is emptiness!"
In an instant, his body seemed to lose all strength and collapsed limply.
Just as Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open, a gentle voice reached his ears.
"Next, we can modify the memories..."
"You went to the kitchen last night to order your favorite blueberry and chive dumplings...:"