bacchusnovels Chapter 510 Hibiscus's Collapse
Chapter 510 Hibiscus's Collapse
Chapter 510 Hibiscus's Collapse (Part 1)
While Sean was trying out the Pensieve, Professors McGonagall, Snape, and others arrived one after another.
In the Pensieve, after the applause ended.
A man wearing round-framed glasses, who appeared to be an editor at Wizarding Press, stepped forward and handed Sean a gold-rimmed certificate: "Congratulations, Mr. Sean Phillips, on 'A Year with the Tibetan Yeti'."
Rated as the most imaginative and realistic non-fiction magic book of the year!
Sean accepted the certificate with a flattered expression, glanced at it, and then smiled at the camera.
This smile was almost like a wink at the people standing in front of the Pensieve.
This turn of events was so dramatic that even the students from Beauxbatons sitting nearby couldn't bear to watch.
"...Professor, is this all the memory you have in your Pensieve?" she said. "We're trying to recall erased memories, and you're at...a book signing?"
"Memory is automatically filtered." Sean shrugged innocently. "Maybe my life has been too uneventful lately. The only thing worth remembering is those few press conferences."
“But this is the Pensieve,” Snape said coldly. “It can’t fake memories.”
"I didn't forge it," Sean said calmly. "Maybe it's just that my mental defense mechanism is stronger."
As he spoke, he smiled and looked at the Pensieve, just as the next scene unfolded—
A young witch in a light blue dress stood at the signing table, holding a book, looking at Sean with a shy expression.
"Please...please sign here, is that alright?" she asked softly.
Sean took the quill pen and said gently, "Of course. I'd write an extra page for you."
The people watching the Pensieve twitched their brows and unconsciously looked away.
"Alright," Dumbledore suddenly said, "Professor Phillips has already demonstrated the Pensieve for us. Ladies and gentlemen, that's all for today."
.
The group looked at each other, then could only nod.
Sean left too, but Snape followed behind him.
"Professor Snape, what's wrong?"
"You've put up a beautiful curtain for yourself, Phillips. But I'll find out what's behind that curtain sooner or later."
Sean met his gaze quietly, and after a moment, smiled slightly: "Then when you reveal it, I'll prepare black tea and a chair."
Snape didn't say anything, he simply turned around, his black robes flashing in the air as he drifted away.
Following this incident, the rules for the third project were also changed accordingly.
The original arrangement for the eliminated contestants to set the questions was cancelled. Of course, this was not to prevent any accidents, but because it was feared that the students still in the competition would recall the incident and suffer psychological trauma.
The Ministry of Magic and the three major magic schools jointly decided that, for the sake of students' mental health, the design of the third project will be adjusted to ensure that it will not cause any unnecessary trauma or stress.
However, the trauma and stress that have already been caused cannot be compensated for through such actions.
For Furong, the experience these past few days can only be described as despair.
No matter where she went, Furong could feel the gaze upon her.
From the end of the corridor, from the corner window, from the hidden gaps in the library's bookshelves, even from the shadow that lingers briefly at the turn of the stairs.
Some of those gazes were full of inquiry, some were filled with curiosity, some were sympathetic, and some were brimming with contempt.
She had grown accustomed to hearing whispers behind her, people deliberately keeping their voices down.
"It must be her—"
"—Poor thing."
"Who exactly did she have that night—?"
"I heard her second project also went wrong. I really don't know how she's still here—"
She couldn't hear everything, but she had heard enough.
Once, she was the brightest star in Beauxbatons, the center of attention wherever she went. But now—
Most of the Hogwarts students who would normally smile at her, greet her, and chat with her became silent or simply took a detour.
Even within her own team, Beauxbatons, subtle distances began to emerge.
Although her two female companions still eat and attend classes with her, they speak much less.
Sometimes, the moment she opens her mouth, the conversation ends abruptly, leaving behind a suffocating silence.
Furong is not unintelligent.
She knew these people didn't really mean any harm; they just didn't want to be implicated in the rumors.
No one wants to get close to someone who is suspected, even if you have done nothing wrong.
Shame, isolation, and being "labeled" have become the norm in Furong's life.
The letter was delivered on a rainy morning.
The envelope was the family's signature light blue, with the Delacour family crest printed on it, and the handwriting was delicate, her mother's handwriting.
Before opening it, Furong thought it would be a comforting letter.
But she was wrong.
The letter wasn't long, but every word was like a nail, hammering into the softest spot in her heart. I hope you're doing well lately.
We heard about your recent situation from the newspapers and some friends. Although we believe you are doing your best to handle the situation, we hope you can understand that it is not appropriate for you to appear in the media frequently at this stage.
You are a member of the Delacour family, and your behavior, to some extent, represents the image of the family.
I know you've always been independent and have your own principles, but perhaps now is the time for you to calm down and rethink your future plans.
Academic studies are important, but reputation is even more fragile.
I hope you understand.
She didn't say you did anything wrong, nor did she say you were violated.
There wasn't even a simple "Are you alright?"
This letter contained neither blame nor comfort, yet it chilled Furong to the bone more than any accusation.
Even her family just wanted her to "keep a low profile," not to "cause trouble," and not to appear "in other people's sight" again.
It's as if as long as she's quiet and invisible enough, the storm will automatically pass, and she can be "cleared" and regain the "decency" that Delacour should have.
Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the letter, and the veins on the back of her hand stood out.
He remained silent for a long time before slowly folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope.
She sat on the edge of the bed, while the witches of Beauxbatons were washing and grooming in the distance, chatting and laughing through the sheer curtains.
No one invited her to join them anymore, and no one spoke ill of her.
They simply kept her out of the circle.
A silent group defined her boundaries, and she became a troublemaker who was "labeled".
"That night," "being cursed," "lying on the ground," "disheveled," "remembering nothing"—these words were never spoken aloud, yet they were repeatedly churned up in one's mind.
It has been polished to a higher level of strength.
Some teachers and mentors have always stood by her side, giving her their trust and respect;
Ms. Maxim has been taking care of her and looking after her emotions;
Professor Sean Phillips did not avoid her; in fact, on some occasions, he would still talk to her with a smile.
The other warriors did not show any signs of alienation.
But these people's voices were too small.
Amidst the vast crowds at Hogwarts, and amidst the struggles and silences of the media, her peers, her family, and even herself, Hibiscus felt for the first time a profound sense of "nowhere to escape."
She started having insomnia.
Initially, I only had light sleep and was easily awakened. I would often wake up in the middle of the night with a tightness in my chest.
Later, I couldn't sleep all night. I tossed and turned, my eyes dry and sore, but I just couldn't fall asleep. When I closed my eyes, it was like falling into a dark lake, with no light, no sound, only coldness all around.
Her appetite also began to decline.
She wasn't hungry, but she knew she had to eat, so she forced herself to sit down at the long table.
But every time I look at the food on my plate, it's like facing a pile of unswallowable stones. The food I eat tastes bland, like chewing paper, and my stomach quickly churns and aches.
She tried using energy drinks to regulate her mood, but they only provided temporary relief and did not address the root cause.
Her emotions also became increasingly volatile.
Anxious, indifferent, and sensitive.
Even a simple greeting from someone will make her ponder whether the other person is harboring hidden sympathy or contempt.
Once in the library, a boy accidentally knocked over her bag and quickly apologized. Furong instinctively backed away, her eyes wary like a cat cornered. The boy stood there stunned for a while before awkwardly leaving.
She gripped the edge of the desk tightly until her fingertips turned white, only then realizing how intense her reaction had been.
She dared not tell anyone these things.
She couldn't let others think she was "really broken down".
Even telling a close friend wouldn't be an option. She was afraid to speak out, as if flipping a switch would cause her true emotions to spiral out of control.
She could only bear it all alone.
And so, the line that supports both fragility and stubbornness grows thinner and tighter.
The others also keenly noticed the changes in Hibiscus.
In fact, anyone who isn't stupid or blind can reach this conclusion.
Some say that Hibiscus has become "cold".
It wasn't the kind of aloofness that comes from haughtiness and self-possession, but rather a genuine sense of alienation.
"She's like a ghost now."
She shows up on time every day, but no one dares to get close to her.
"Who would dare? Think about it, what exactly happened to her that night—even though the principal said nothing happened, who believes that—"
Not only such remarks, but even the previous rumor scandal has been brought up again.
Victim blaming is always the easiest way for rumors to spread and take root.
"Why her of all people?"
"Has she been in contact with certain people for some time now?"
"Didn't she prove herself to be that kind of person in the second project? It's not surprising that this kind of thing happened to her."
The content that was originally debunked and clarified is now being dredged up and re-examined, and given new interpretations and malice.
Nothing had happened. The medical report was in black and white, Dumbledore spoke out, and Professor Phillips defended her in public.
But in the mouths of these people, she still became a character "most likely to hide a secret in the story".
Victims are responsible for the malice of others.
Victims have to bow to the imaginations of others.
When a victim remains silent, it is considered an admission of guilt. To speak out in rebuttal is to make excuses.
Furong knew that this logic was utterly absurd, but she couldn't refute every single one of them.
She was also tired of arguing.
She has lost the right to "explain".
Until the morning of that day, before dawn, the witches in the carriage were still fast asleep.
As usual, Furong got up early. She made the bed and opened the window at the same time.
A piece of paper was stuck inside the window.
It is a letter.
There was no signature, no wax seal, and it was written with an extremely crude quill pen, the handwriting crooked and twisted, as if deliberately concealing the original handwriting.
She hesitated for two seconds, but still opened it.
The first line almost made her scalp tingle: "You think Professor Phillips will protect you forever? Even if he's interested in you, you're just a temporary plaything."
Ren Xiaye's sentences are sharp and incisive.
"Miss Hibiscus in the top three competition is truly an eye-opener."
"Don't you remember what happened? Or are you afraid to admit that you actually enjoyed it?"
Her stomach clenched, and she almost vomited.
She tore the letter to shreds, but couldn't stop the suffocating feeling that rose from her throat to her eyes.
She tried to convince herself that it was just isolated malicious intent. But she soon discovered that this was only the beginning.
The second letter was tucked inside her bag, between her Charms textbook and notes;
The third letter was tucked into her practice brush box;
The fourth letter was placed on Beauxbatons' dining table seat;
The fifth letter—a single one—was stuck to the carriage door, held in place by magic, and could not be pulled off.
The font is the same, the tone is the same, but the content becomes increasingly vulgar.
Some letters directly accused her of being "licentious," while others mocked her for "using her looks to please others." Some even impersonated witnesses who had seen her that night, fabricating various malicious and false "details."
She tried to act as if nothing was wrong.
But after the fifth letter, all the witches in the carriage saw it.
Several girls looked away with embarrassed expressions, while others frowned slightly, wanting to offer comfort but not daring to speak.
Fu Rong didn't say anything.
She silently reached out and tore the letter off with trembling hands, as if she were peeling away her last layer of dignity.
She doesn't know who wrote it.
What's even more terrifying is that she knows she may never find out who it is.
Because this is not the work of one person with malicious intent.
This is the judgment of the entire environment on her, the consensus that everyone has accepted that she is "not worth cleaning," and the indelible label that has been placed on her.
She returned to her seat, knees bent, staring blankly out the window.
What should I do? Should I talk to a professor?
Or... should I leave this place?
I want to leave.
She said this to Mrs. Maxim.
"I've had enough," she continued, her tone as calm as if she were reciting a passage from a textbook. "I haven't done anything wrong, yet I'm being punished by others every day."
After a long silence, Mrs. Maxim finally spoke: "Hibiscus, you know, if you choose to leave now—"
"So it's like making something concrete, isn't it?" Hibiscus looked up and asked rhetorically, "But now, no matter what, won't they change their minds?"
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"Hang in there a little longer, the third project is about to start."
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