magic sacrifice

Exquisite wallpaper with strange and atmospheric patterns was laid in the room. Harry circled around the dark curtains and turned back again. The sound of footsteps disturbed Draco.

"What the hell are you doing?" He threw back the quilt and straightened up, sneering at the other party, "Want to cast a curse on it? Or how can you escape? No matter what you want to do, Potter, I advise you you--"

Harry took out his wand slowly, tapped it on the tent, and muttered a charm.

Then the dark curtains turned into Gryffindor red in an instant.

Draco shut his mouth abruptly, feeling that he was so stupid that he couldn't look straight at what he had just said.

——Merlin, he actually had the illusion that Potter would bring his brains!

"Now I can finally sleep." Harry breathed a sigh of relief, climbed onto the bed and drew the curtains, and got into the soft quilt, completely ignoring Mr. Malfoy.

"Potter!"

"I'm asleep."

"Did the air talk to me just now!?" Draco grabbed the pillow at hand and threw it viciously, hitting the closed curtain, sank a little, and was kicked out again. The meticulous light-blond hair was about to explode angrily: "—Scar, head!"

"Is there someone named Scarhead here?"

"..." Draco choked half to death.

How the hell did he never know Potter was so eloquent?

"Well, Potter," he said weakly, "you don't want to - say - something?"

The curtain moved, and a messy black head emerged, staring straight at him with startling green eyes.

Draco flinched involuntarily.

"Say what?" Harry asked.

"Say..." Draco paused a little stiffly, "Why did you come here? What happened to the mysterious man? And what did you see just now?"

"But why should I tell you?" Harry asked, increasingly puzzled.

"Now! We! We are also in danger!" Angrily, Draco grabbed another pillow, cast a spell to turn it into a heavy iron block, and raised his hand threateningly, "Potter, why are you Can't you honestly see our situation clearly?"

"That's you," Harry muttered, throwing his head back again. "Dumbledore's here."

Draco felt like he almost missed it in one breath.

"you--"

"Voldemort is dead," said the voice of the savior inside the veil, "I guess you must be unhappy, it's great, now the whole wizarding world is cheering for victory."

Draco bit his lip, wondering what the words meant.How could he feel—that the mysterious man is happy to be alive?

"...I didn't." He said stiffly, "No one will think it's good for him to be alive."

"is it?"

"Of course!" Draco blurted out.

Then the two of them fell into an unimaginable silence together. After a long time, the fair-haired wizard reached out and turned off the lamp, and lay back on the bed, covering his head with the quilt as if in a fit of anger.

Why the hell would he bother with a Gryffindor? !

******

"That's impossible," Grindelwald said.His tone made people think that something forcibly suppressed the hot magma that was about to erupt from a volcano that was about to erupt.

He repeated it.

"It's impossible, Albus, I won't agree."

The study was once again devastated by majestic and terrifying magic power, and this time Dumbledore didn't even reach out to tidy it up.He stood by the bookshelf, admiring the chaotic room, and didn't rush to speak.

The author has something to say:

It's rare for the juniors to play a role...