[HP] End of Death

When the day's classes finally come to an end, it also means other troubles will come.Harry didn't know how much Draco had put in the publicity, anyway, when they were sitting in the auditorium having dinner, everyone around them seemed to know about it.They whispered the same as yesterday, but this time their eyes were full of disgust and contempt.

After Hermione came back from the school hospital, she had heard Ron tell the whole story. She was trembling with anger, and her voice became sharp and harsh: "How could he be so shameless? You saved him in the game Fate! He obviously followed you because he was afraid of death! It was you who proposed to win the trophy with him—how could he say that?"

"Come on, what can't he do to frame Harry?" Ron snorted coldly. He turned his head and stopped a junior student who was talking too loudly, and raised the prefect badge on his arm at him, "I Enough of these people, they're not here to eat!"

"I'm going first." Harry stood up suddenly, and strode out.There is still more than half of the pumpkin pie on his dinner plate, and the fruit milk is not finished.Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and left their unfinished dinner to catch up.

Harry walked quickly, and his departure attracted the attention of many people around him. Some students even stretched out their feet to trip him, but he avoided them all.

They returned to the lounge, and before discussing a few words, another trouble came——

"Hey, Potter!" an angry voice yelled, and Angelina walked up to him and poked her finger in his chest, "How did you get yourself a detention at five o'clock on a Friday afternoon? "

"Uh...sorry, Angelina."

"What's the use of saying sorry? Didn't I tell you that I hope that all the players will participate in the selection and find someone who can cooperate with each team member? Didn't I tell you that I have specially reserved the Quidditch pitch?" Did you? Now you have decided not to participate!"

"I didn't decide not to go!" retorted Harry, who felt he had been stabbed by these unfair words, "that woman named Umbridge put me in solitary confinement for telling her about You-Know-Who truth."

"Okay, then I hope you can go and beg her to let her let you go on Friday." Angelina was quite emotional, "I don't care what you do, if you want, you might as well tell her that the mysterious man is your imagination Yes, just to ensure that you can be there!"

After she finished speaking, she walked away aggressively.

"How likely do you think Umbridge will let you go on Friday?" asked Ron.

"Nearly zero." Harry opened the Charms book with a grimace. "But it's better to try, isn't it? I can ask for two extra detentions or something... I hope she doesn't keep me too late. You guys You know, we're going to write three papers, practice the Vanishing Curse for McGonagall, and design a solution for Flitwick!"

At five minutes to five, Harry said good-bye to the two of them and walked alone to Umbridge's office on the fourth floor.He knocked on the door, only to hear a cloyingly sweet voice call, "Come in." Harry walked in cautiously.

"Good evening, Professor Umbridge," he said awkwardly, looking around the office.Lacey throws and tablecloths covered everything, and on one wall hung a set of decorative plates, each with a large brightly colored cat wearing a different bow around its neck.These things were so disgusting that Harry just stared at them in horror.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. Now, sit down." She pointed to a small lace-draped table, with a straight chair beside it, and a blank piece of parchment on it, apparently intended for him. of.

"Well," Harry said without moving, "Professor Umbridge, um - before we start, I want to ask you one thing."

"Oh, what?" Her protruding eyes narrowed.

"Well, I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I'm supposed to be trying out the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday afternoon, and I - I don't know if I can get out of detention that night - and Find another night to make up..."

Harry knew it was utterly useless before he had finished speaking.

five hours later.He left the office without a word.He walked slowly down the corridor, and when he turned a corner, sure she wouldn't hear him, he broke into a run.

And in a corner that he didn't see, a figure leaned quietly in the shadow behind the doorpost, and he didn't know how long he had been standing there.He stands almost as a sculpture.

Harry didn't have time to practice the Vanishing Charm, nor did he plan to break it, so he didn't touch a single word of so many papers.The next morning, he didn't have breakfast, hurriedly wrote a few lines and went to class.He was surprised to find that Ron was disheveled, unkempt, and obviously cramming.

"What didn't you do last night?" Harry asked, as Ron looked aimlessly around the common room for inspiration.When Harry returned to his bedroom last night, he was already soundly asleep.Hearing Harry's question, Ron muttered vaguely, like "I'm doing something else", then lowered his head and scratched a few lines on the parchment.

"By the way, how about the detention at Umbridge's? What did she tell you to do?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Write sentences."

"Oh, that's not too bad, is it?"

"Yes."

The second solitary confinement was just as painful as the first.Harry told Ron that Umbridge only made him write sentences, which was only half true - she did make him write sentences, but they were written in his blood, imprinted on his skin Up.

I can't lie.I can't lie.He wrote over and over again on paper.The skin on the back of his hand hurt unbearably, and he doubted that those wounds would not heal so effectively after a few more visits, and this sentence would also be deeply embedded in his flesh and blood.

Thursday was spent in drowsy fatigue.Harry's third confinement was no different from the first two, but after two hours, the handwriting on the back of his hand stopped healing, and blood-red scratches remained there, oozing Thin beads of blood.

Professor Umbridge looked up without hearing the rustle of the quill tip.

"Ah," she said softly, walking around her desk to examine Harry's hand, "good. That should remind you, shouldn't it? You can go tonight."

"Am I coming again tomorrow?" Harry asked, picking up his bag with his left hand because his right hand hurt so badly.

"Oh, yes." Professor Umbridge's smile was as nasty and disgusting as before. "Yes, I think with another night of hard work, we can carve this sentence a little deeper."

Harry didn't answer, turned and left the office.He walked slowly in the corridor, and the wind blowing through the back of his hand from time to time penetrated a bit of piercing pain.He stopped at the corner and raised his right hand to check the back of his hand.It was still dripping with blood, dripping with blood.He sighed, and just as he took a step, someone grabbed his wrist.He turned his head suddenly and bumped into a pair of silver gray pupils.

Draco grabbed his slender wrist with one hand, and carefully studied the line of writing with his fisted fingers in the other hand.He stretched out his fingertips as if to touch, but Harry withdrew his hand instantly.

"Potter."

Harry ignored him and turned to leave.Draco took a step forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him back abruptly.

"Go away, Malfoy!" Harry shouted angrily as he pushed him hard with his uninjured hand, "Come to me for a sense of superiority!"

"Don't be self-righteous, Potter." Draco sneered, firmly pressed his left wrist, and grabbed his right hand with the other hand, and the manicured nails scratched the unhealed wound on the back of the hand, Severe pain that was bloody and bloody, "I'm not going to come to you to seek superiority - what do you have that I can show off? Do you think I will be as knowledgeable as a disgusting fried-tailed snail?"

Before Harry could answer, he shook his hand vigorously and walked away laughing.The high-pitched and piercing laughter echoed throughout the corridor, almost piercing Harry's eardrums, like a magic voice resounding in his brain.

He stood there for a long time, and finally pulled down his sleeves, without even looking at the bloody wound on the back of his hand, he strode forward.