The Mortal

The spell snapped back together, the shard of glass back where it should be.Magic makes everything so easy, it seems that everything can be done again.

Except that time cannot be turned back and the dead are brought back to life.

He can't disappoint those who still care about him.

If anything could mask the uneasiness and anger at life, it would probably be fighting.At least that's what he thought then.

The head of the Auror Division is a difficult man to define.In other words, his popularity has always been bad, but his deterrent power and leadership status are unmatched.This is thanks to his at times dangerously daring and unspeakable amount of mission completion.

So when he broke formal procedure for the Savior it went surprisingly well.

But things didn't go well after that.In addition to the mandatory three years of training, the character and ability tests Aurors are required to take are not without reason.Removing the long acclimatization period would be like crossing directly from the greenhouse to the desert, where storms are too dangerous and fragile roots can hardly support.

Harry was almost being forcibly dragged and staggered forward.He doesn't have enough strength, nor does he have a hard enough heart.He wasn't ready--or rather he was thrown into the task before he even started preparing.The wizards here are not very interested in the savior, and only genuine abilities can make them look high.

"You know I'm not qualified. Why?"

He had just finished a mission that almost cost him his life, because he didn't understand enough to trust others easily and the price behind surrendering.

"We haven't had any new members for more than ten years," said the director. "I know you have that potential in you."

In his later career as an Auror, he understood the meaning of that potential: it was the courage not to be afraid of death, and it was the lesson of weakness that brought him vigilance and vigilance against anyone, men, women, old and young, without exception.It is a rational to cruel choice in the face of the exchange of human lives in numbers. Exchanging a few people for the survival of the many people is no longer a reason to hesitate.

It is restraint and forbearance, peeling off a part of oneself and stepping on the edge of the boundary to do the most correct thing-and the correct definition is human beings themselves.He sometimes wonders, have they ever crossed that line?Then dawn came, and they picked up their wands and walked on.

"You did better than I thought, Harry."

"Then why don't you let me stay?"

"You need time," the director said to him twice. "You need time."

He does need time.He confirmed this fact within a few days of returning to normal life, as he almost broke Ginny's arm when she tried to startle him with a pat on the back - literally broke it. Not far away.

He never knew life could be so difficult.Everyone who passed by the road seemed to harbor malice, and he wondered whether there were lies hidden behind every seemingly cordial greeting. With red eyes, Ginny said it was okay, but what she couldn't hide was the trembling of surprise and panic. Hermione jokingly talked about the work of the Law Department, and when he talked about the trial of the Death Eaters, he looked cold and said nothing.

Like the days after Sirius' death, like Albus's fall from the observatory, he couldn't help himself - after enduring the madness for so long, he was desperate for the peaceful life he dreamed of.A part of him was dying, the stupid innocence and the unshakable yearning for justice, but they couldn't die, and he needed something to save them.

He often stood in St. Mungo's room, wondering how Snape was getting through it all.Leaning against the cold wall, he stared at the sculptural figure on the hospital bed, and many images went through his head in a trance for a whole night.The sky outside the window turned from night to dawn, he closed his eyes and pushed away the light.

It comforts him here.

A few days later, there was a statement in the daily newspaper that the savior was suspected to be the third-generation Dark Lord.He sneered and tore the newspaper apart, not saying a word amidst the many uncertain discussions.Half a month later, he got rid of the female reporter who was good at turning into a beetle, and left the magical world that he had saved and destroyed almost everything under the worried eyes of his friends.

Reconstruction takes time and space.He kept recalling, analyzing, questioning, and searching in the room. He fell down and got up and continued. On the first day after three months, he walked down the stairs, and Mrs. Anderson stood in front of him in an elegant purple dress.

"There's a nice play tonight," she said. "Honey, would you like to accompany me, a lonely old man?"

That night he stepped out the gate of 109 Bethel Street.

There are no stars in the sky at dusk, but the flashing and flowing neon lights are so beautiful.

"It was only after I collected recipes from many other countries that British food was a tragedy. No wonder I could cook decently at the age of seven," Harry said after the quiet dinner. "You don't mind if I try something else?"

Snape looked at him with arched eyebrows. "I'm afraid I can't dampen your... enthusiasm for cooking."

The lack of rebuttal was probably Snape's compliment, Harry thought.

"It's still good, besides filling your stomach." He dug out two cups and tea bags. "Like making you feel calm."

Snape let out a questioning syllable from the back of his nose.

"You know, follow the procedure, and you'll get a desired result. It's kind of like a potion, isn't it?" He poured hot water into a white bone china teacup. "Although it is estimated that my level of making potions is still very bad."

"I'm afraid you'll probably be at that level for the rest of your life," Snape said flatly. "Don't compare your views, Potter."

"That's because your ability can generally despise other human beings." He said bluntly.

Harry handed him a cup of tea, and at the same time a thought popped into his mind - like now, it was as if he was taking care of Snape.But he immediately snuffed out this idea in the cradle.

He sank himself into another sofa chair, cupping his teacup in both hands, lounging from the heat.So he emptied himself and stopped talking.Thankfully, the fact that Snape was here didn't heighten the tension of any kind, and he wasn't sure if he had bought off the former professor with a cup of tea, or if Snape needed such a calm moment to sort himself out.It was too much today, enough for the two of them.

"They said," Snape's slightly deep voice came out after an unknown amount of time. "It was you who brought me... back." He carefully avoided the word rescue, although he didn't seem to want to mention it at all.

But being able to say this sentence at least means that he is really confused about it.He was ready for the end, but who knew that he would change again in the blink of an eye, which was really a big shock.But no one can say exactly how he survived.They just told him that Potter was taking him to St. Mungo's, and that was it.

that's it.

"Well... yes." Harry stared at the teacup in his hand and studied the pattern structure on it. "St. Mungo said a lot of technical terms, I can't understand. You should have a common language with them."

"Don't play dumb." Snape threw him an exasperated glare, but it was powerless.

Harry moved reluctantly on the sofa.He didn't really want to talk about it, but he didn't feel much desire to fight Snape either - he was calmer than he'd been at any time in years after that spectacular stabbing contest before dinner.

"Okay, okay." This time it was his turn to sigh. "You... after that, I actually thought you were dead. There was blood everywhere, and I was a little flustered-maybe more than a little. Anyway, I can't accept it." His speaking speed was very slow, and his voice was very flat. "It was the first time I got that close. I mean, the passage from life to death, so close, it felt like it was in my hands. I had to do something," he said. "And then I drank Felicia."

"You... what?"

"You heard that right, it's the fucking Felix Elixir." Harry leaned his head back. "Then I cast a detoxification spell first, but I couldn't see the effect. Then I remembered the Muggle method, the explanation I heard when I went to the zoo when I was a child, and then I did it: use polymorph to make a knife in the wound Cut the cross up, suck out the poisonous blood, wash it away with a clear spring like water, and apply a hemostatic spell.” He tried to drive out the image—the pale neck above the tight neckline, the still warm skin, he cried like a The idiot lowered his head and sucked out the purple-black blood, desperate and dazed. "I've got a blood tonic, Hermione taught me basic healing spells, and I've used everything I can think of. Then I'll take you back. You're welcome, as long as you don't settle for me - because I didn't Realize that you're still alive."

He drank the tea in one gulp.Reminiscing about it brought back a deep feeling for Snape that he... he didn't know what it was, and it made him regret the scolding before dinner so badly that he couldn't remember that he had been hurt himself - actually. It doesn't matter anymore.

After a while, "...impressive." Snape seemed to have temporarily lost his artistic talent. "Very."

"Yeah," Harry said. "That's all."

He put the empty teacup on the coffee table, then bent down, put his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his palms.At this time, he was the one who received it like that.