bacchusnovels Chapter 508 I want to see Dumbledore, immediately!
Chapter 508 I want to see Dumbledore, immediately!
Chapter 508 I want to see Dumbledore, immediately!
The other end of the castle.
Sean's office.
The chill of midnight seeped into the room, and the candlelight flickered slightly.
"Master... Just now, Miss Delacour and the others were on their way to Hagrid's cabin when they encountered old Barty Crouch... He's gone mad."
"and then?"
Peter shrank back, and his lips twitched.
"Then Barty Crouch Jr. arrived, and he... took care of Barty the Elder."
"deal with?"
"He must have killed him...at least, I saw him cast the Killing Curse, and Old Barty collapsed on the spot without struggling."
Sean didn't speak, but took a sip of tea.
Peter carefully observed his expression, hesitated for a moment, and continued.
"However... before that, Mr. Crouch had already been seen by Miss Delacour and the other three. He even grabbed Miss Delacour's sleeve and shouted in front of her, 'I want to see Dumbledore!'"
"So, Barty Jr. had to deal with them."
"Miss Delacour was found by Barty the Younger on her way to find Dumbledore."
"He cast the spell of 'forgetfulness' on her—intentionally intending to kill her, but I felt that she and you, Master, seemed to have a good relationship, so I persuaded him to spare her."
"But to make sure she wouldn't overthink it, before leaving, Little Barty deliberately messed up her clothes, making her look—like she had just gone through—uh—"
He didn't finish his sentence, but instead glanced at Sean's expression again.
There was a few seconds of silence in the room.
Although Sean had already guessed what had happened, hearing it from Pete himself still felt different.
In the silence, Peter's heart pounded like a mouse cornered, holding its breath and waiting for its master's reaction.
Then, Sean laughed.
He carefully examined Sean's smile.
It wasn't a sneer, nor was it contempt; it was a faint smile, tinged with a hint of appreciation.
Sean looked up at Peter's nervous face and couldn't help but find it a little funny.
"Good job, Wormtail. You did a great job this time."
Peter was startled, then his eyes widened, and a fawning smile almost instinctively bloomed on his face: "Lord..."
Master, are you... are you serious?
This emotion wasn't feigned; it came from the bottom of my heart.
Before this, Peter didn't know whether what he was doing was right or wrong.
Logically speaking, based on my years of experience working under Voldemort, it's best not to do things you're not told to do; by not doing them, you won't make mistakes. But this time—
Driven by some kind of instinct, he did it anyway.
But now, he's made the right bet.
“Of course it’s true,” Sean said. “You successfully stopped Barty Jr. from going too far at the crucial moment; otherwise, Beauxbatons would never have let it go so easily. You’re smart, you know how to play it safe, and you know what to do and what not to do.”
Peter blinked, his smile almost reaching his ears: "Master is wise! This is what I should do!"
"Since you've done well, you deserve a reward." Sean picked up his teacup, swirled it casually, and looked at Peter. "What do you want?"
Peter's breathing quickened, his eyes blinked greedily, and his mind raced.
Opportunities to ask Sean for a reward are rare.
He dared not hope for too much, but at least—
"Harry! Harry!"
A familiar voice reached his ears, abruptly pulling him back to reality from the darkness.
Harry opened his eyes abruptly, breathing rapidly, his forehead covered in cold sweat, looking just like a drowning person who had just struggled out of an icy lake.
The firelight flickered, blurring his vision, but soon he saw Ron, Seamus, Neville, and several others sitting around his bedside, their faces full of worry.
"Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked anxiously.
"You're screaming." Neville's voice still carried lingering panic as he stared intently at Harry, saying fearfully, "You look like...like...like you've been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse!"
The scar on my forehead still burned and ached so badly that it almost brought tears to my eyes.
"I'm going to find Dumbledore," Harry said, then rolled out of bed.
He must go find Dumbledore.
must.
Immediately.
Ron grabbed his arm, not understanding why.
"Harry, it's the middle of the night! Even if you want to find Dumbledore, you'll have to wait until dawn, right?"
"No!" Harry forcefully shook off Ron's hand. "Voldemort—what is he planning now? Wormtail and Crouch, they—they're going to do something to me—I don't know the details, but I have to tell Dumbledore!"
The room fell into an eerie silence, and Ron, Seamus, and Neville's expressions changed.
“Crouch?” Ron frowned. “You mean, Barty Crouch? But isn’t he missing? Why would you dream about him?”
Harry shook his head, trying to clear the jumbled fragments in his mind.
"I don't know—but I saw Voldemort—I heard his voice, he was torturing Wormtail—he mentioned my name—"
Neville's face turned deathly pale.
Ron swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. "Are you sure this isn't just an ordinary nightmare?"
Harry looked up sharply at Ron: "Do you think a normal nightmare would make my scar hurt this much?"
Ron immediately shut his mouth.
"I'm going to find Dumbledore," Harry said again, then walked straight toward the dormitory door.
Five minutes later, Harry was standing in front of the stone monster outside Dumbledore's office, panting.
"Sour Lemon Olaf!"
The stone statue remained completely still.
Harry frowned, took a deep breath, and tried again: "Honey Duke!"
There was still no response.
He squinted, staring at the lifeless monster, feeling his patience slowly wearing thin.
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, staring at it, “Pear hard candy. Uh—Licorice wand. Bubbly honey candy. Super bubble gum. Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans—oh, no, Professor Dumbledore doesn’t like this—”
He sighed abruptly, put his hands on his hips, and impatiently yelled at the stone statue, "Can't you just open the door?"
I really need to see him, it's urgent!
The monster remained motionless.
Harry gritted his teeth, his anger rising, and kicked it hard—the next second, he gasped and jumped up, clutching his foot.
"Damn it!"
He grimaced and let out a low growl, but it did nothing more than make his big toe ache terribly.
This time, he was completely enraged.
"Chocolate frog! Sugar quill pen! A swarm of cockroaches!"
"Click".
The monster suddenly came to life, jumped aside, and cleared the way.
Harry froze, his face momentarily filled with astonishment before the pain flashed across his expression.
"A pile of cockroaches?" He repeated it blankly, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief.
"I was just saying—Professor Dumbledore actually likes this?"
But now is not the time to dwell on this issue.
He immediately stepped through the passage cleared by the monster and quickly ascended the spiral stone staircase. The entrance behind him slowly closed after he passed, the door shutting silently, isolating him from the outside world.
The stairs rose automatically, slowly leading him to the gleaming oak door with a brass knocker.
dong dong dong.
Five seconds later, the door slowly opened.
A tall figure wearing a dark purple bathrobe appeared behind the door.
It's Dumbledore.
It's very rare to see Dumbledore wearing a bathrobe.
Despite Harry's late-night visit, the old man was not bothered by his morning grumpiness at all. Instead, he turned slightly to the side, gesturing for Harry to come in.
Harry didn't stand on ceremony and immediately stepped inside.
The principal's office remains the same.
Unchanged forever.
Perhaps only during the brief period when Professor Phillips was the principal did things change.
"I suppose," Dumbledore poured Harry a cup of tea, "you didn't come here to discuss the flavors of candy for tonight, did you?"
"Professor, I dreamt about Voldemort."
Upon meeting, Harry immediately boosted Dumbledore's power.
Dumbledore's hand trembled slightly as he poured the tea, and two drops fell onto the outside of the teacup.
"Tell me, Harry," he said, "what did you dream about?"
Without hesitation, Harry quickly described the scene from his dream: Voldemort on a high-backed chair, Wormtail cowering on the carpet, Nagini hissing, and... Crouch.
When he mentioned "Crouch," Dumbledore's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly.
Harry, panting, added, "Then—Voldemort cast the Crucifixion on Wormtail, and my scar was killing me. I think—I think he realized something, or rather, he sensed something."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment.
Come find me during the day.
"Um?"
Good night. Drinking some honey lemon black tea before bed can calm your mind.
The next morning.
The Great Hall at Hogwarts.
A large breakfast was laid out on the long table, and the air was filled with the aroma of toasted bread and pumpkin juice. Students sat in twos and threes.
Human joys are not shared.
Furong mechanically fiddled with the fried egg on the plate, watching the yolk slowly flow, the golden liquid staining the edge of the plate and blurring into a patch. She picked up a small piece of bread, but unconsciously smeared it back and forth on the jam, never putting it in her mouth.
She had no taste for food; more accurately, she didn't care whether she ate or not.
She hadn't slept a wink last night, lying on the carriage bed, staring at the ceiling.
Everything that happened was too complicated, making it hard to fall asleep.
She really doesn't remember anything.
She was thinking... if that person hadn't done anything, then why had he tousled her clothes?
Is it for a twisted sense of humor?
Are there really such bad people?
Or... she did it but didn't notice.
This was only part of Hibiscus's troubles; the other part was the strange looks she felt from the moment she entered the hall.
Those eyes held scrutiny, sympathy, and even pity.
Furong has always been very sensitive to eye contact.
That's how it was before, and it's even more so after experiencing two rumor incidents—she can clearly distinguish the emotions contained in those eyes—she often wonders whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.
She didn't pay attention at first, or rather, her brain wasn't fully working yet.
When she looked down to cut her fried egg and then looked up again, she saw the Ravenclaw student across from her quickly averting his gaze, pretending to be focused on stirring his cereal.
On the other side, several Hufflepuff girls huddled together, whispering something. One of them occasionally glanced at her with a complicated look in her eyes, seemingly with some reluctance.
Furong's fingers tightened slightly as she finally realized something was wrong.
They were watching her.
They were talking about her.
She put down her fork and gently placed her palm on the table.
Just then, an older girl stood up, quickly walked to her side, gently patted her shoulder, and said in a cautious tone, "Miss Delacour—are you alright?"
Furong was stunned.
Why would she ask such a question?
Before she could answer, another Hufflepuff boy stood up and walked over, speaking sincerely: "If you need any help, or—if you just want to talk to someone, we're always here."
More and more students stood up.
Their expressions were sincere, some even with a hint of anger in their eyes, as if they were standing up for her, while others were full of concern, with a hint of pity in their eyes.
Furong's mind went blank.
She suddenly realized something terrible: they all thought she had been assaulted.
In that instant, her ears were ringing, as if the whole world had become distant and distorted, and all the gazes, whispers, and sympathy were like an impenetrable net, trapping her firmly in the center.
Her first reaction was to explain, "I didn't!"
"It's not what you think!"
But her lips parted slightly, and in the end, she couldn't utter a single word.
How should she explain this?
"I was indeed found collapsed near the Forbidden Forest, but I don't remember anything."
"I was indeed disheveled, but was that someone's prank?"
"Madame Pomfrey examined me; I was not violated?"
Regardless of the explanation, it cannot completely dispel the suspicions in these people's minds; on the contrary, it may make the situation worse.
She had been through similar experiences before, and in the past, she would have explained things to them properly—but her previous two experiences taught her that explanations were useless—people only believe what they believe, and explanations would only make her situation worse.
Furong could feel her face burning, but it wasn't a feeling of shyness or anger; rather, it was an indescribable sense of frustration and helplessness.
I didn't do anything wrong... yet so many people misunderstand me.
The impact and shock value of this rumor far exceed that of the last one.
Just as she was caught in an extremely awkward and difficult situation, a tall figure strode quickly towards the entrance of the auditorium.
"Miss Delacour."
—First, Professor McGonagall.
Furong looked up at her in confusion.
"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you. Please come with me."
In this situation, Professor McGonagall's actions were more like a way to extricate herself from a difficult situation.
So without any hesitation, she stood up and followed Professor McGonagall out of the auditorium.