[HP Doujin] 1943

For so many years, Tom and I have been bumping together, experiencing so many quarrels and hurts, and in the seventh grade, we feel like an old married couple.In other words, for some things, I already know how to turn a blind eye and close one eye, instead of making a big noise like before.

I gradually became familiar with the group around Tom.I know how to keep my senses when dealing with them.For example, I go to Hogsmeade with them on weekends, go to Professor Slughorn's Slug Club evening with them on Thanksgiving, and sometimes practice silent spells together in Charms, but, I never do Their meetings, when they get together to discuss things, I avoid without saying a word.

I also know that if he disappears for a period of time for no reason, loses his temper inexplicably, or becomes gentle with me without warning, don't ask why.

I used to think he had a lot of friends.It was only when I was in the seventh grade that I discovered that he was a loner with an extremely arrogant and withdrawn heart.He is very suspicious and never trusts anyone.When we went to London for Christmas and lived in Sylvia's big house, he was also very careful never to bring any papers back to our bedroom, and he locked the study door magically every time.

Every time I say to myself, he has a big goal to achieve.He is not Malfoy and Tony. He has a lot of gold and a high status that can make a bunch of people bow down to him. He has too many last resorts.For his cautiousness, deceit and concealment, I have been patient, and after a long time, I got used to it. Instead, I feel sorry for him and feel that he is living too hard.

From the day I lied to Professor Dumbledore for him, I threw away my morals for my love.

December came quietly amidst the flying snowflakes, the sky was no longer blue, but turned a cold iron gray, and the temperature dropped suddenly.Every morning I walked out of the warm common room into the stone corridor, shivering from the cold.Wearing thick scarves, the students hurried to the auditorium with sleepy faces, wanting to have some hot breakfast before the first class.

One Friday morning, wearing a woolen knitted hat, with my hair poking out in a mess, I had a quick cup of coffee at the Ravenclaw table, ate a piece of toast, and headed to the library, planning to Finish that paper on extinct volcano grass stems before herbal medicine class.

"See you later, Lizzie!" Chris said to me.

Ada and Carl stopped talking to me, and Chris was helplessly caught between us.In order to avoid some embarrassing scenes, I try to avoid them as much as possible.

Tom ran after me in the drafty hallway and asked, "Hey, are you going to the library?"

I haven't seen him for a week.

I thanked him, and stuffed a pile of books in my arms into his hands: "Help me." I suddenly remembered something, "By the way, isn't your first class Defense Against the Dark Arts class?"

"Professor Mellors is ill again," he said. "He will be retiring at the end of this term."

I looked at him in surprise, unable to believe that Professor Mellors was leaving.As much as I hate his classes, he's been at Hogwarts for over 50 years.

"How can you thank me for breaking the news to you?" He smirked. "Most of the faculty members don't know."

Before I could speak, he lifted a tapestry, put his arms around my waist, and dragged me in.

"I don't do Defense Against the Dark Arts," I said, "it's none of my business whether Professor Mellors leaves or not."

"But this has a lot to do with me." Tom said softly, dropped his schoolbag and the books in his arms on the ground, straightened up, pressed me against the wall behind him, and kissed my ear impatiently Dear, "Well, have you ever thought that after old Melas left, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor might be younger and more proficient in the dark arts?"

His breath was too close to me, and my brain turned a beat slower than usual, so I didn't speak.He moved his hand up my waist and said, "Don't you like it here? This school, this castle. It would be nice to continue to live here after graduation."

"Wait," I finally turned the corner, "you want to be the teacher for this class? Tom, are you not crazy? There's no way Professor Dippet would agree. Even if he did, the parents don't think a Recent graduates can be professors. Besides, don't you want to work for the Ministry of Magic?"

"I'm not crazy," he said sullenly. "Stop nagging me. I know what I'm doing."

I heard the "stop here" in his tone.

"Hey," I said softly, taking off my gloves, putting my arms around his neck and running my fingers through his hair, "no matter what you do, I'm here for you. Because now I have no one but you. gone."

After speaking, I raised my face and kissed his lips deeply.His lips were dry and soft, without the smell of tobacco, but with the smell of a young man.He froze for a moment, then quickly pushed forward, pushed me against the wall, kissed me back, and took the initiative.The black robe on his chest was wrinkled by me. I was immersed in the ink and woody smell on his body, and I couldn't extricate myself from it at all.

After a few minutes of kissing behind that tapestry, we were interrupted by a ghost.

Lady Gray, the ghost of the Ravenclaw tower, seemed to be floating and fugueing until she came up to us and stopped abruptly.

"Oh, Merlin." She said softly, frowning slightly, "I'm sorry...you continue."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on my face and Tom's, seeming to recognize us, but she just shook her head and disappeared through the wall.

Tom and I froze for a moment, then burst out laughing at the same time.

He picked up the books and schoolbags on the ground, buttoned my chest, put on the scarf, adjusted his own clothes, and said, "Let's go to the library."

"If it wasn't for the Dark Arts, I think a History of Magic teacher would be a good fit for me," Tom told me as we buried ourselves in the pile of books. "History is so fascinating."

I looked up at him from my herbology paper, opened my mouth and let out a big yawn.

"You help me finish this paper, and I agree that you're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic teacher I've ever met," I said, "and help me finish my astronomy diagrams, too."

Tom flipped through the inscrutable books that had nothing to do with homework, without looking up: "Do it yourself."

"But I'm too late." I said, pulling his sleeve pitifully.

"Who has been sleeping on the table for the past hour, drooling all over the paper?" He said bluntly.

I was so angry that I ignored him, bowed my head and began to write quickly.I ignored him until the astronomy class that night. When Sylvia caught up with me on the stairs holding the textbook, she asked me with a stick: "You two quarreled again. ?”

I snorted: "Yeah, he won't help me with my homework."

Sylvia nearly tripped over her own robe.

******

The Christmas holidays for Year [-] are fast approaching.We took the train back to London, and Tony picked us up at the station in a low-key Bentley that had been extended and widened by magic.

I haven't seen him in half a year. He seems to be several years old all of a sudden. He wears a platinum tie clip on his straight tie, and wears a dark green robe with a black woolen overcoat and black gloves. At first glance, he looks like a A formidable official of the Ministry of Magic.

"Hello, Lizzie." He greeted me briefly, then looked at Tom and said, "It's done."

"Will he come?"

"Yes. The old place."

After saying these few words that I couldn't figure out, our group got into the car.Orion Black, Rozier, and Lestrange came back with us on the train, but they didn't get into Tony's car.I heard from Sylvia that they seemed to be going to Orion's house.His home is in downtown London.Sylvia's house is in the suburbs.

I love London on Christmas Eve.The sky is cloudy, snowflakes are spinning and flying around the frozen black lampposts, dirty snow is piled up on both sides of the road, black taxis, red buses are honking, crowded together and waiting for the lights to turn red. Crossroads of lights.At dusk, when the snow had stopped, a mist poured from the Thames into the darkened street, lingering in front of the bright and warm windows decorated with Christmas ornaments.

The heater was turned on in Tony's car, and the warm wind was blowing on my forehead, and a few strands of hair fluttered slightly, making me itchy and sleepy.The wedding of Figaro was playing on the radio, and the aria was hissing because of poor reception.I took off the scarf, put my head on Tom's shoulder, and fell asleep without knowing it.

I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up again, I was reclining in Tom's arms, he was holding me, and the surroundings were already pitch black.

The car was still driving, and several people were talking.

"—If Dumbledore finds out, you're all screwed," Sylvia said sarcastically.

"He won't know," Tony said.

"Tom, are you really going to see Hepzibah Smith to-morrow? The old woman dined with us in Grimmauld Place. I swear I haven't seen a woman more off-putting to my stomach."

"That's none of your business," said Tom flatly. "Don't let anyone know that I went to see her."

"Got it," said Sylvia, "but I still don't understand why you're going. Ah, we're almost there."

The car turned a corner, jolted, and seemed to turn off the road and onto the gravel drive of a country house.After about 5 minutes, the car stopped, the door opened and slammed shut. "Northumberland Manor is ahead," said Sylvia. "Lizzie is still awake? Do you want to wake her up?"

"No, let her sleep." Tom said, picked me up and got out of the car, not knowing that I was actually half awake, "I'll just carry her in."

The air around me was cold and crisp, and I smelled bushes and fir thickets.Tom carried me out onto the porch, his feet crunching in the snow.

The Black house must be huge, because I heard a faint echo when Tony spoke.I heard Sylvia ordering the house-elves neatly to take their coats and go light the fire and cook, and Tom carried me up the stairs, seeming to know the house well.

I curled up in his arms, feeling warm and comfortable.He went up the stairs, down a corridor, into a bedroom, and put me on a soft bed.

"Elizabeth..." he said softly, touching my face, "I love you very much. I really love you."

My heart shook violently, this was the first time he said this to me.I bit my lip and giggled, and when he realized I was awake, he became so annoyed that he picked up a pillow and covered my face.

"You say it again, I didn't hear you clearly!"

"Do not say!"

"Can you say that again!"

"Go away!"

"I want to listen to it again, can you tell me every day from now on?"

"You are dreaming!"

I laughed and hugged his neck and rolled on the bed with him, making a fuss.At this time, there was a sound of footsteps at the door, and the footsteps stopped suddenly at the door. I looked at the dark door and saw the back of Sylvia turning away.

I haven't seen much of Tom, Sylvia, or Tony since that night.It seemed that they were always busy in London, and only emerged from the fireplace at dinnertime, or appeared in apparitions in the hall.I know it's another project they're working on that I can't participate in.I know I can't ask, I can't interfere, and I just suffer in silence every day.After such a long time, I seem to be a person who has been holding my nose and diving underwater for a long time. The silence oppresses my eardrums, and I am on the verge of suffocation every second.

Every day after supper I went upstairs alone, and the three of them stayed in the kitchen, shutting the door and talking, and several times Tom came back to his room in the middle of the night, so exhausted that he fell asleep on the pillow.He likes to hold me with one arm when he sleeps, so that I can't breathe.

No one but me knew that Tom had a habit of talking in his sleep when he was very tired and fast asleep.Of course I won't tell him.Several times, I heard him muttering the names of several people, and it took me several times to hear clearly, which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in fright: "Gellert Grindelwald... "

"Tom?" I tried, "What's wrong with Grindelwald?"

"He knows...how to be seven...perfectionists..." Tom rolled over and hugged me to his chest, mumbled, "It's dangerous, but I can handle it..."

"Isn't Grindelwald in Norway?"

"That's what the Daily Prophet said..." His voice trailed off. "He's in London..."

Disregarding the danger of waking him up, I exclaimed, "London?"

He didn't seem to hear what I was saying, gave a vague grace, turned over, and fell into a deep sleep.

I lay flat beside him with my eyes open, my heart beating violently.I didn't understand his words at all, but a vague fear ran through my body.

I opened my eyes, lying in the dark, thinking that there will always be too many concealments and lies between him and me.He never promised me a future.Does this really mean we have no tomorrow at all?This kind of fear is like a dark torrent, tormenting me sleepless night after night.

On Christmas Eve, Tom and Sylvia were away all day.My house-elves and I put up Christmas decorations at home.At dusk, it started snowing again.White snowflakes are falling on the quiet suburbs of London.The Northumberland Manor of the Blake family lost a little of the usual solemnity and a little more softness in the flying snowflakes.Every window is lit with warm yellow lights and decorated with holly wreaths, bells, magic crystal bubbles and real dancing elves.

Tom and the others never came back.I ate a sumptuous Christmas dinner alone in the kitchen, drank two bottles of champagne, and fell asleep in the living room.

About midnight, a group of people came back with a drunken Tom, singing, and they were all overjoyed that something good had happened.They quarreled in the kitchen for a long time before they fell asleep in disorder, some lying on the table and some on the carpet. Sylvia came out quietly. Me on the couch.She bent down, picked for a while, stuffed a disc into the record player, folded her arms, and stared out the window in a daze.

To this day, I still remember the song WhereTheWildRosesGrow she played that day.Later, I searched for a long time, and I also bought that disc in Edinburgh, but no matter how I listened to it, I couldn't find the thrilling shock of Christmas Eve in 1945.

They call me the wild rose, they call me the wild rose,

But my name was ElizaDay. But my name was ElizaDay

Why they call me it I do not know, I don't understand why they call me that,

FormynamewasElizaDay. My name is ElizaDay【22】

Sylvia turned around, with a hint of blankness in her eyes.She hummed softly along with the melody, kicked off her high heels, picked up one of Tom's black robes from the sofa, hugged it tightly to her chest, and spun around on her own.

When he knocked on my door and entered the room,

When he knocked on my room,

my trembling subsided in his sure embrace.

My trembling is stilled in his firm embrace,

He would be my first man and with a careful hand,

He'll be my first man,

Hewiped at the tears that ran down my face...

He gently wiped away the tears that slid down my face with his hands...

I will always remember that sad night.I looked out of the foggy, dark window, and the whole world was immersed in a sea of ​​fog.This is the wasteland of life, ordinary people like us are desperately running towards the only love in our hearts, no matter whether it is a flat valley or an abyss ahead.

On the first day Isawher Iknewshewastheone,

The first time we met, I knew she was the one I was looking for

asshestaredinmyeyesandsmiled,

She looked into my eyes and smiled,

for her lips were the color of the roses,

her lips are the color of roses

That grew down other all bloody and wild....

Those blood-red wild roses that grow along the banks.

Sylvia closed her eyes and danced the waltz by herself by the snowy window, hugging Tom's robe, tears trickling down from under her eyelashes.

On the second day he came with asingler red rose,

The next day he brought a red rose,

said will you give me your loss and your sorrow,

Say if you would give me your loss and sorrow,

Inodded my head as Ilaid on the bed,

I nodded and lay down on the bed,

he said if I show you rose will you follow…

He said if I take you to see those wild roses, will you follow me...

There is nothing outside the window of Northumberland Manor except the vast mist, as if our life has sunk into darkness.We, two women abandoned by fate, wandered in low voices, and our sorrow passed through the years and became invisible shadows.

Yes, we are sunk in darkness, but we never give up looking for hope.

On the last day It looked her where the wild roses grew,

On the last day I took her to where the wild roses bloomed,

Andshe lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief.

She was lying on the embankment, not daring to disturb even the wind.

And I kissed her goodbye,

I kissed her goodbye,

Isaid all beauty must die,

I say the end of all beauty is death,

AndIlentdownandplantedarosebetweenherteeth….

I planted a rose between her lips.

I remembered what Wilde once wrote: "Love is perfected by death." This perverted, twisted and creepy logic seemed to be the most perfect declaration of my life on that foggy, gloomy and desperate night.The wild rose burns in the grave, and sends out a seductive call on the other side of the river of life, tearing apart the crumbling darkness and fragility in the heart in an instant, starting to doubt everything, deny everything, and make you fall apart in the next second.

Is death itself a kind of belief?

The ultimate destination of beauty is death.

It is a dark road without end, a road of murdering oneself in order to find meaning in life.This is a kind of doubt and denial of the whole world from the depths of life, and it is a complete madness.

【22】From Australian singer Nick Cave "where the wild roses grow".