[Main HP Comprehensive British-American] Lolita

Christmas is over, but the British winter is still not over. The outside of the castle is still white, and the large pumpkins of the gamekeeper Hagrid have been frozen by the cold temperature. He asked Professor Sprout to help him build one. Huge greenhouse, so whenever you meet Hagrid recently, you can hear him praising "good Pomona".

Professor McGonagall has been getting tougher lately, of course, mainly for 5th and 7th graders preparing for O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts. And Dolores is unfortunately one of them.

In fact, she didn't need to be so nervous, because no matter what she did in the exam, she had already made up her mind to go back to work in the Muggle world after graduation. Howard even made a list of college references for her to choose.

It's all Voldemort's fault, she cursed inwardly, his presence stirring up a competitive spirit in her that hasn't ignited in a long time. While she was glad that her disguise was not seen through, she also wanted to show him some color with this Gryffindor shell he despised.

Howard wrote again. Since Voldemort came to teach at Hogwarts he had been writing letters almost once a week. Dolores doesn't have her own owls, so every now and then she runs to the owl shack and feeds them a snack to get owls willing to cross the Atlantic.

When he heard that Hogwarts could bring a pet, Howard picked an owl for her early. But Dolores didn't want to have pets anymore, and it always reminded her that she had selfishly lost her little boy, although Howard didn't like her comparing little boys to pets. But to her, they were all the same thing, small, non-threatening and soft.

The owl was left in the United States, and has probably been plucked by Tony by now.

Tony is Howard's son, Anthony Stark, now only three years old, but already a destructive little devil. Maria, his mother, always had nothing to do with him, or Tony's parents had nothing to do with him, and the guilt of ignoring their son because of their busy work could make them promise anything to Tony.

Howard and Maria also brought this practice to their relationship with Dolores, always gently and understandingly letting her do whatever she wanted. If her own father was like that, Dolores wondered, wouldn't all tragedy be stopped before it happened, would she still fall in love with that person? Will my father still die alone?

"Miss Rogers?" A voice came from behind, and Dolores was shocked to realize that she had wasted too much time in the owl shack today. She regretted that today's review task had not been completed. The man reached its peak after Voldemort.

Her mixed feelings for Voldemort now added another line of blame, resenting why he didn't recognize her. Is it because I'm neither pureblood nor Slytherin now, she thought maliciously, or because I've lost my blond hair and looks.

"Good afternoon, Professor."

"It's almost time for dinner, Miss Rogers, aren't you going to dinner?"

"It just took a little longer to feed the owls, Professor."

Voldemort walked up to her and looked out of the castle side by side through the window of the owl shack. "It's beautiful here, isn't it?"

Dolores nodded.

"I heard you are American?"

"Yes, I live in New York with my uncle."

"uncle?"

"Both my parents passed away, if you were wondering."

"I'm sorry," Voldemort looked at her gently. His eyes were rich black with thick curled eyelashes, and when Dolores saw them closed, she knew what it was like to kiss them. Dolores' hands trembled under her wide school robe, and she did everything she could to stop herself from telling all the truth to this man.

She moved her eyes away from him.

"Did you come to the Owl Shack looking for something, sir?"

Voldemort lost his mind for a moment.

"What are you looking for, sir?"

Voldemort looked towards the sounding place, and saw a woman sitting by the fountain in the garden. Her emerald silk dress was mostly wet, and her body seemed to be faintly visible in the moonlight. As if bewitched by something, Voldemort took another step forward. Then he could see the woman's face clearly - in fact, it was not a woman, just a little girl, the wet skirt on her chest was tightly pressed against her still undeveloped breasts.

"Sir?" the girl asked again, her lips were very red, like the world's most precious mouth grease, and her lips moved during the conversation, reminding him of rose petals in spring.

"I know you, Victoria," Voldemort began. "Your father must be anxious why he's hiding here all by himself."

When the girl heard her name, a hint of surprise flashed on her face, and she returned to her original expression. This expression was very familiar to Voldemort. He had seen it countless times on the boy's face, with rebelliousness, disdain, and indifference.

"He won't worry about me," Victoria adjusted her seat, her blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight. "Besides, I'm very comfortable here and don't need him to care."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. He didn't expect that he would just come out to take a breath and meet a rebellious girl. Just as he was about to leave, he heard the girl say, "Do you want to go pick apples?"

"There is an apple tree in the garden. It's mine. My dad thinks it's not decent enough for the gardener to plant it in the northernmost part of the garden." Victoria said quickly, "What's your name?"

"Voldemort."

The girl jumped off the edge of the fountain and walked into Voldemort, looking closely at his face, "I seem to have seen you, but you weren't called Voldemort back then, you were Tom."

"Really?" Voldemort replied noncommittally. "Let's go and pick apples."

"I haven't seen my dad for three months," Victoria said as she walked. "I could have seen him today, but I don't want to. Have you ever had a time like this?—you must have, because you So much older than me, there must have been a lot of hard times. Do adults also like apples? Actually, I don’t like apples very much anymore, but it is my thing, so I must cherish it.”

Voldemort listened silently to the girl, who seemed to be extraordinarily talkative, reminding him of some of the deceptions he'd been proud of to this day, and they were all women and lonely. They too, like today's Victoria, confided to him like a drowning man grabbing water plants, but they didn't end well, which is a pity.

"We're here, my apple tree." Victoria happily showed him that this was probably the only treasure in the manor that belonged to her, and she rolled up her skirt a little and tied it in a knot, "I'll ask you later. Eat apples."

Voldemort watched with a headache as she was eager to climb up the tree. He gently pulled her away from the apple tree and lifted the wand hand, and the tree immediately shook and a few apples fell.

Victoria picked up an apple, wiped it on her skirt and ate it. Seeing Voldemort was looking at her the whole time, she held out the bit of the apple to him, "Do you want it too?"

The snow-white flesh of the apple was stained with a bit of the red lipstick on her lips, and Victoria's expression was somewhere between innocence and lust, like Eve who was tempted by a snake to eat the forbidden fruit in the Bible.

But there are no snakes here, no Eden, just him and Victoria standing in front of the apple tree. He lowered his head, put his hand on Victoria's, and took a bite of the apple.