[HP] End of Death

He walked along the corridor, which was deep and dark, giving the illusion of dizziness.There was a cracked wooden door at the end of the corridor, and Harry looked in through the narrow crack. It was a kitchen, and inside it was an old woman who was cooking dinner.She was wearing a long veil and a pointed wizard hat on her head. The shadows cast by the brim of the hat covered her deep-set eyes.Harry felt somehow familiar to her.

"Come in, child." The old woman spoke suddenly, and Harry was startled. He hesitated for a while before pushing the door open.

He walked slowly to the table, where a small chair had already been placed, as if waiting for him to sit down.The old woman put the hot buttered toast, chicken legs and milk on the table, and Harry looked a little greedy.

"Eat quickly, child. You have been in a coma for a long time." The old woman said kindly.Harry didn't hold back anymore, and he did feel empty and hungry.

"Mother-in-law, how long have I been in a coma?" He asked while eating bread.

"It's been four or five days since I picked you up."

"Where did you find me?"

"On the nearby coast, when you were just washed up on the beach." The old woman said, "I have washed your clothes and put them next to the bed."

"Thank you so much, mother-in-law." Harry said gratefully, "May I know your name?"

"My name is Bathilda Bagshot," replied Bathilda.

"Bathilda Bagshot..." Harry felt that the name was a little familiar, and he suddenly trembled, his eyes widened, "Are you the author of "A History of Magic?"

"Oh, yes, boy, I did write A History of Magic... but it was with the help of Albus." Bathilda shook her head, took a sip of milk, "I know who you are , Albus has often mentioned you to me. That scar..."

Harry subconsciously touched the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.His heart suddenly became irritable.

"Yeah, I do have a scar on my forehead, everyone knows—"

"It was a tragedy." Bathilda said suddenly, her voice was very hoarse, with a heavy and soothing force, "... what happened to Albus is also a tragedy. I am very sorry."

Harry fell silent.He almost forgot... Dumbledore was dead.

Memories of that day resurfaced in my mind, the Dark Mark floating on the top of the tower, the green light erupting from Snape's wand, the man's crimson pupils in the dark night... everything seemed to have happened last night, and the overwhelming hatred was overwhelmed he.Harry clenched his fingers, feeling a pinprick in his heart.

"Professor Dumbledore...he helped me a lot." He whispered, "But I can't help him much."

"You can live well, that is the greatest help to him." Bathilda said in a low voice, "Don't blame yourself too much, you never let him down."

"...thank you, Ms. Bagshot," said Harry softly.

They stopped talking, and Harry drank the milk silently. The warm heat slowly rose in his body, filling his empty internal organs.He stared at the pattern of mottled pomegranate flowers on the milk glass for a while, then suddenly said: "I saw him being killed with my own eyes, and he fell backward from the tower."

Bathilda looked at him mildly, without speaking.

"Professor Dumbledore trusted that man very much. Although we didn't trust him, he still resisted all opinions... But he was killed by him in the end. I can't forgive him..." He said his voice trembling slightly, He grabbed his hem tightly.Bathilda still didn't speak, her eyes became softer, and the light danced in the corners of her eyes.

"I understand how you feel, child. But sometimes things don't just take their course," she said slowly.

"Ms. Bagshot, do you know something?" Harry asked sharply.

"No, I don't know. Albus didn't discuss his work with me, we only had some academic exchanges." Bathilda waved his wand, and the leftovers on the table were swept away, "Go and rest , son. You have a lot to do."

After saying goodbye to her, Harry walked back to the room alone. He turned on the oil lamp and saw his robe and wand had been placed beside the pillow. Harry took off his clothes and put them on again.He climbed into bed and sat by the window quietly looking at the extinguished night sky.

Bathilda Bagshot was right, he still had a lot to do...he had to destroy the Horcruxes and fight Voldemort face to face.All of this is full of unknown fears. He understands that the task on his shoulders is heavy... and the future is dangerous all the way. Now that no one can block all dangers for him, he doesn't know how far he can go.

But he understands that no matter how difficult and dangerous the front is, no matter whether the ending is happy or not, he will keep going.

True, the scar on his forehead was a tragedy, a symbol of death for many—he was born with the breath of death, but it was also a miracle.

He is the only person who has escaped from the curse of Avada Kedavra for thousands of years. What makes him do this is not his ingenuity, but another kind of power that can compete with darkness, power, violence, and death. Things—and the incomparably precious things that Dumbledore has always admired and allowed him to escape from Voldemort time and time again—

"Love".

Maybe everyone—no matter how powerful and lucky he is—will eventually lead to the end of life by different routes.

But love always ends in death.

Harry sat quietly on the head of the bed and stayed up all night.Maybe it was because he had been in a coma for too long, but he didn't feel sleepy at all. On the contrary, as the night went quiet, his brain became clearer and clearer.

He remembered a long time ago—not so long ago, but now it seems like a century ago—in the jungle of the World Cup, he and Draco had an argument over the lost wand... No, Before that, they had met in Madam Malkin's clothing store.Perhaps from that moment on, the gears of fate have been quietly and slowly turning, and the goddess of fate is weaving a long thread to pull everyone together.

——If you were given another chance... If you could start over, would you still do it?

——Yes, no matter how many times it is the same.

Prophecy, fate, choice, sacrifice, love... No matter who, no matter what situation and identity they are in, they cannot escape the huge vortex rolled up by this world.And what noble or despicable, great or ordinary role they will play in this war is each individual's own choice, and he has no right to be harsh.

All he knew was that they were tied tightly to this chariot that was moving forward crazily. The chariot was so fast that it crushed countless creatures mercilessly.He heard those dead souls singing war songs that he couldn't understand loudly in the clouds, neither mourning nor lamenting, immortal and immortal, and the moment they reached the soul, it passed through the whole body like an electric shock.

To retreat is death, they sing, to fall is death, to advance is death.

Involuntarily, seeing death as home.

Harry watched the sky fade from purple-grey to dark blue and burgundy velvet to a clear, pitch-black curtain, dotted with twinkling silver stars.He wanted to have such a peaceful time in his dreams, but he couldn't get it for a long time.

Harry drew the curtains and was about to sleep for a while, when he heard loud crashes and sharp arguments coming from outside the room.He quickly ran out of the room with his wand in his hand, and followed the sound source to the stairwell.There was a dim yellow light in the stairwell, and two abrupt shadows twisted and swayed in the frosty light and shadow, one big and one small, one thick and one thin, looking extremely hideous.

Harry's heart was hanging higher and higher, and he heard Bathilda's scream, and the feeling of fear in his heart almost swallowed him.He finally made it to the stairs, where he saw Bathilda in her pajamas trying to stop a giant snake with a stool, a lantern down on the stairs - it looked like she had just woken up to use the toilet, because Harry saw The open toilet door on the other side of the stairs.

The big colorful snake was spitting out its message at her, wrapped around the poor little stool, and its long and sharp fangs pierced into her throat one by one.Harry watched the blood gushing out of the blood hole, and he felt that his vision was also covered by the blood, and his despair and anger almost made him lose his mind——

"No! Ms. Bagshot! No!" He rushed behind the snake and tugged at its thick, slimy body, trying to pull it away from her.He pulled out his wand and shouted at the big snake: "Let the force loose!"

The big snake let go of its body in an instant, and Harry took a step back. He felt the scar on his forehead aching like it was split open. The scene in front of him was mixed with a deep red rest, and a cold voice echoed in his brain:

"Hold him, keep him... I'll be right there..."

Harry hit his back against the solid wall, and he vaguely saw the big snake rushing towards him. He gripped his wand tightly and pointed at it and cast an Eye Curse, but the spell missed and blasted a hole through the wall.

The scar was still throbbing, and it suddenly stinged like a fire, almost blinding him.Then Harry heard a "bang", and a night-like man Apparated in front of him.That pale snake face is a nightmare that has appeared countless nights.