bacchusnovels Chapter 468 Qiu Zhang's Nightmare
Chapter 468 Qiu Zhang's Nightmare
Chapter 468 Qiu Zhang's Nightmare
Harry looked at the scene he was about to face, feeling nothing in particular.
Perhaps, it is the absence of feeling that is the greatest feeling.
Laughter can indeed occur during moments of profound silence for humans.
At this moment, Harry could only console himself that, at least compared to those contestants who had only seen the dragon for the first time on Tuesday, he had an informational advantage.
If he waited until then to see the dragon, he might faint on the spot in front of the whole school—and even then, he might still faint—
As he drew closer, he looked down at his weapon.
Perhaps in the past this wand could be called a weapon—but now it looks like a thin stick—and he has to deal with a fifty-foot-tall dragon covered in scales and spikes, breathing fire!
He had to get past it.
And everyone's eyes were on him.
How do I get it approved?
On the way back, Harry's mind was still filled with images of dragons, making it hard for him to breathe.
Hermione and Ron, however, did not stop comforting him.
"You'll be alright, Harry." Hermione patted his back gently. "You've seen danger before, you've survived all that before, and you'll do it again this time."
Harry looked up and forced a smile, but his heart was still heavy.
He knew what Hermione was talking about, but this time it was really different—she made it sound easy, but when a dragon's eyes are fixed on you, with the whole school watching you from behind, that pressure is something no one can easily bear.
"I just feel—something's not right," Harry said softly. "A wand that's so thin, can it really defeat a dragon?"
"Of course you can! Think about it, who would have thought you could defeat Voldemort?" Ron smiled uneasily. "Maybe you have some special connection with dragons. Aren't you the best at dealing with all sorts of dangerous things?"
"Yes, Harry," Hermione nodded. "You know better than anyone that magic isn't just about strength—"
Just as the group was talking, they suddenly heard footsteps in the distance.
Karkaroff felt somewhat dejected.
This time, he wasn't the only contestant who knew about the first event.
If his inference is correct.
It seems only Cho Chang and Cedric are unaware of this.
Inside Hogwarts Great Hall, the boisterous atmosphere subsided slightly in the afternoon sunlight. Most of the seats were filled with wizards and young wizards, discussing the events of the previous day, with occasional bursts of laughter.
But for Furong, all of this was too far away and had nothing to do with her.
There was more than one or two tables between them, and it wasn't a distance of five or ten meters, but a pitifully thick barrier.
There have always been two towering trees in the wizarding world.
One is called the Pureblood Family, and the other is called the Ordinary Wizard.
This is also why most Slytherin wizards admired Fleur, a witch who "dared to speak the truth" and "dared to be a pioneer." Suddenly, a gentle voice appeared in his ear.
Are you alright?
Furong was taken aback when she saw Professor Phillips standing in front of her.
"It's okay." She forced a smile.
Sean didn't respond, but simply sat down quietly, his tone gentle: "You know you're not alone." He looked at Fleur, "Almost everyone goes through similar moments growing up. Some are misunderstood, some are criticized, but ultimately, what really matters is how you see yourself."
Furong lowered her head, her fingers gripping the knife so tightly that the cutlery almost made a slight sound.
Indeed, this was the first time she had heard such gentle and sincere comfort since the incident.
She looked down at her plate and suddenly felt a surge of inexplicable emotion welling up inside her. For days, she had been gritting her teeth and putting herself in a lonely corner, pretending that she didn't care about anything, pretending that she could bear all the pointing fingers, endless gossip and questioning.
Sean's words were like a gentle key, softly unlocking the door to her tightly locked heart.
Fleur forced a smile, her voice slightly choked: "Thank you, Professor." She found her voice trembling slightly, and the "I'm fine" she wanted to say seemed so fragile—to hide her current situation, she lowered her eyes gently, avoiding Sean's gaze.
At that moment, Sean didn't say much, but patiently waited for her to compose herself.
After a moment, he spoke softly, "Friday, if you feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable, you can come to my office anytime. I'm always busy teaching." He looked directly at Fleur as he spoke, his attitude extremely sincere. "You can also come to my Muggle Studies course when you have time. In class, we'll discuss many different perspectives."
Maybe it can help you relax sometimes.
Hibiscus looked up, slightly shocked by Sean's suggestion.
Although she had long known through news reports or rumors that Professor Phillips was always a person of excellent manners and amiable character,
A considerate and understanding professor, but I never expected him to offer such help—to a transfer student, an auditor, or a student temporarily enrolled in another class.
The term "crashing" or "attending classes" was still somewhat uncommon in 20th-century wizarding schools. In contrast to Shaun's professorship at Hogwarts, this concern clearly did not stem from any formal responsibility, but rather from a genuine act of assistance.
"Thank you, Professor Sean." Her voice was low. "I'll remember that."
Sean nodded and said nothing more.
When Sean left, Fleur remained sitting quietly, her gaze fixed on his retreating figure, lost in thought.
The following morning, Hogwarts was immersed in a peaceful atmosphere.
Today is Sunday.
The sun had just risen and was streaming through the windows into Ravenclaw's spacious bedroom, illuminating Cho Chang's bed.
She woke up much earlier than usual, and when she opened her eyes, the shadows on the ceiling and the dim corners of the room reminded her that the dream from last night was still lingering in her mind.
Yes, Qiu Zhang had a nightmare that kept her up almost all night.
In her dream, she found herself in a dark forest, the surrounding trees twisted and gnarled, as if mocking her helplessness. She tried to escape, but each step felt like sinking into mud, making her steps heavier and heavier. Behind her, a blurry figure gradually emerged, relentlessly pursuing her.
Qiu Zhang suddenly sat up in bed, his forehead covered in cold sweat.
Everything that happened in her dream felt incredibly real to her, as if it were something she was about to experience, something she was destined to experience.
Was it really just a dream?
Or is her heart really so fragile?
This inevitably reminded Qiu Zhang of everything that had happened in Professor Phillips' office the day before.
She couldn't help but lower her head, looking at her neat Ravenclaw robes—she had to admit that she had never felt so ashamed, that all her dignity had collapsed at that moment, completely exposed to that merciless mirror and to Professor Phillips.
The three questions I had before leaving have been answered overnight.
The professor was kindly helping her treat her wound.
The factor of one's own nakedness accounts for a large proportion.
The relationship between myself and the professor has made a breakthrough.
Qiu Zhang did not know whether these answers were correct.
It's like the feeling after every exam, when you've just filled in the answers but don't even know if they're right or wrong.
Based on Phillips's consistently mild-mannered nature, Qiu Zhang did not believe that yesterday's events were intentional, coupled with the previous accidents.
Professor Phillips's actions, driven by emotion yet restrained by propriety, further solidified Cho Chang's conviction:
The professor is not a casual person!
Then everything that happened yesterday can be traced back to the fact that no one can resist a naked witch standing in front of them, especially one as outstanding and beautiful as her.
Therefore, it becomes only natural to fill in the gaps with the third answer.
only..
This answer still needs to go through one last step:
The papers were submitted to the examiners for review.
That is, to take the initiative to ask Professor Phillips.
Even so, after everything that happened yesterday, Qiu Zhang didn't know if he could calmly walk up to the professor and discuss these matters.
Perhaps a day of buffer time is needed?
Perhaps three days? Or maybe a week?
In short, not today.
After a quick wash, Cho Chang slowly walked out of the Ravenclaw common room with his books in his arms, preparing to go to the library to look up some information about the Triwizard Tournament, which would help him prepare for his first project.
"Hello—Achujang!"
Cho Chang turned around; it was Harry.
The boy from Gryffindor.
"Hello, Harry," she replied softly, clutching the books in her arms even tighter—she had assumed Harry would also go to the library to look up information—after all, they would both face the same unknown challenges.
Harry strode forward, seemingly hesitant, his lips moving as if considering how to begin. Finally, he said softly, "Are you going to the library?"
Qiu Zhang nodded, subtly shifting his grip on the book. "Yes, I'd like to see if there's any information about the Triwizard Tournament. What about you?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice and said, "Cho Chang, I already know what the first project is."
Qiu Zhang's eyes widened slightly, and she paused for a moment. "You—you know?" Her voice held surprise and a hint of wariness.
Harry nodded, looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, and then whispered, "It's a dragon."
Qiu Zhang's pupils contracted, and he almost dropped the book in his hand.
She steadied herself quickly with her arm, but her face clearly showed shock. "A dragon?" she repeated softly, as if needing time to process the information.
"Yes," Harry nodded, his expression grave. "Nine adult dragons, and each warrior must face one. I—"
I found out beforehand by accident.
Qiu Zhang remained silent for a while, his brows furrowed slightly, as if he were pondering something.
Before she could even thank her, Hermione ran over from a short distance away.
She didn't immediately show any panic compared to what she had experienced yesterday. Even if Merlin were to resurrect before her eyes and grant her three wishes, let alone a dragon, it wouldn't cause her much of a stir.
"If it's a dragon... this competition is more terrifying than I imagined," she whispered. "It means we have to find a way to complete the mission while avoiding direct confrontation."
Harry nodded; that was precisely why he was anxious. "Yeah, I keep thinking—how do I get through this?"
Cho Chang gently bit her lip, looked up at Harry, and said in a calmer voice, "Thank you for telling me, Harry. I know you didn't have to."
Harry shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "Honestly, I don't know what to do myself. If you have any ideas—" He paused, scratching his head, "we can figure something out together."
Immediately afterward, Hermione rushed over from behind, carrying a thick stack of books.
She was panting as she adjusted the books in her arms, glaring at Harry as if his life depended on whether they could get to the library quickly. "Come on, Harry, we don't have much time," she urged hastily, completely unaware that Harry was talking to Cho Chang.
Harry paused for a moment, then instinctively looked at Cho Chang.
Qiu Zhang simply nodded slightly, indicating his understanding.
Harry gave Cho Chang an apologetic look and shrugged helplessly. Cho Chang smiled slightly, indicating that he should hurry up and not worry.
"Sorry, Cho, we'll talk later," Harry said in a low voice, before Hermione grabbed his arm and half-dragged him toward the library.
Qiu Zhangxin stood there, watching their figures disappear at the end of the corridor.
She lowered her head, paused for a moment, then hugged the book in her hands tightly and turned to walk towards another corridor.
The dragon—a solution must be found as soon as possible, perhaps—
"Using magic to trim claws—a treatment for festering scales—" It's useless. That's just for weirdos like Grimm who like to keep strong, healthy dragons.
"Dragons are extremely difficult to kill because their thick hides are infused with ancient magic, which can only be penetrated by the most powerful spells—" But Sirius says that a simple spell can solve the problem—"
Inside the library, Harry flipped through the books, gradually feeling anxious.
He casually tossed "The Man Who Loves Dragons" aside, picked up a stack of spellbooks with both hands, placed them on the table, and began to read them.
Hermione kept chattering away beside her.
"Oh, and there's the Transformation Charm—but what good is it? Unless you turn your fangs into candy."
This makes it less dangerous—but the problem is, the book says that almost no spells can penetrate dragon skin—otherwise,
Try the Transfiguration Charm? But transforming this enormous monster is practically impossible. Even Professor McGonagall might not be able to do it. Unless—you cast the spell on yourself? Enhance your own power? But these aren't things we learn in class; we only encounter them when doing practice questions for the regular wizarding exams—”
"Hermione," Harry said through gritted teeth in a low voice, "please, can you be quiet? I need to concentrate."
Hermione immediately shut her mouth, but Harry still felt a buzzing noise in his head and couldn't concentrate.
He stared intently at the page on "Basic Spells for Dealing with Hyperactive and Restless Animals," his heart pounding faster. He knew all those spells, but here, against a dragon, he felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, with nowhere to step.
"Hair—" He read the entry weakly. How could it be that Ichiryu has no hair?
"The smell of pepper—" he thought sarcastically, that might only make the dragon more fiery and powerful, completely useless.
"Harden your tongue—" Harry's mind paused for a moment, his fingers unconsciously touching the handle of his wand, a terrible thought flashing through his mind—give the dragon a weapon?
So that you can lick your own body more thoroughly?
Just thinking about that feeling is unbearable.
This wasn't the challenge he was facing—he only hoped he could survive until Tuesday and see the sun rise on Wednesday.
Whenever he thought about these things, his hand would unconsciously tighten around his wand, the stinging sensation at his fingertips reminding him that it was no easy task.
Just then, several figures, accompanied by a commotion, came from the doorway.