Harriet Potter

I only saw Dumbledore twice in the next few weeks, and never got a chance to talk to him, if not knowing Dumbledore - really, do I? —I'd say he'd forgotten about my lessons.Snape was at least partly right about being pushy, and Dumbledore's attention, once so encouraging and reassuring to me, now felt a little abandoned.

Snape was the only one who knew what I was thinking and went out of his way to taunt me with it.Quite unfortunately, the Occlumency class went on as usual, and since the fourth class I was able to defend myself, and I fought back a few times, though I still didn't quite understand how.

Most of the memories I have seen are of Snape as a child wearing ill-fitting old clothes, being teased or avoiding his father's fists, and the occasional cold stare and teasing from school days-his to others and others to him, and The resentful eyes cast by students of different ages.I rather doubt that he's ever had a good time or been really close to anyone in his life, and am sure he's been a sullen, vicious fellow long before I was born.I'm not sorry for him, Hermione once said to me that "been through worse" is not a reason for indifference, but if I still have what little empathy I have left, it should never be wasted here In a man like Nep.

When Snape forcibly ejects me, I always feel like I've been kicked in the head, and then my brain has to deal with an exasperated and more brutal intrusion.He was not polite when he repeatedly relive the insults of the Dursleys or the various strange injuries and illnesses since he went to school. Touch and go, I think he at least retains respect for the principal.

Every second spent with Snape was always a horrific torture, and I always had to think about something I was planning to do over the weekend to get the motivation to go down to the basement and get through that hour-plus, mostly Quebec. This two weeks is the first opportunity to go to Hogsmeade this year.With the security measures around the school getting tighter, we thought that trips to Hogsmeade would no longer be allowed, and this news pleased everyone.It's nice to get out of the castle, even if it's just for a few hours.

Even better, I finally got a note from Dumbledore on Saturday morning informing me that his second lesson would be on Monday night.All sorts of questions and thoughts have been running through my mind lately, and even though I know I probably won't really talk about any of them with Dumbledore, I take comfort in seeing him soon, as if the elder The very existence of the author is an answer.

But obviously the outside world has no intention of responding to my mood. It was a cold, windy day with heavy rain and snow.After finally getting through Argus Filch's list approval and the black magic detector probing, I was staggered by the strong wind as soon as I walked out of the castle gate.The walk to Hogsmeade was a difficult one, with students stooping against the wind everywhere, and more than once I wondered if it would be wiser to stay in the warm common room.

The closure of Zonko's joke store confirmed this speculation. We planned to stay a little longer in Honeydukes, but we ran into Slughorn instead.I've already gotten away with three of his dinners by arranging Quidditch practice, much to his displeasure, but the next one happens to be on a Monday, saving me the trouble of making excuses not to go.

"You can't avoid me forever, Harry!" Slughorn announced before leaving, and I tried not to roll my eyes.

He remained as inattentive as ever to Ron, usually the most easygoing of us, but perhaps growing up with five older brothers and a younger sister, he was particularly sensitive to neglect.Ron's obvious depression after Slughorn's departure infected Hermione and me, and the various candies seemed less attractive.We bought more horseshoes and fudge than usual though, they are Ron's favorites and food always cheers him up.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," I suggested after filling my pockets with sweets, hoping the hot drink would ease Ron's gloom. "It's sure to be warm in there."

Once again we trudged through the slushy road with scarves wrapped around our faces, the cold wind outside being more like a knife than a warm candy store.The village was much more deserted than usual, and pedestrians did not stop chatting, so the two people outside the three broomsticks looked very abrupt.They all looked familiar, and I squinted my eyes to make them out, but my poor eyesight allowed me to vaguely see that the tall, thin figure looked a bit like Dumbledore, which was impossible.As the three of us approached, there was only one other short man left in place, and Hermione recognized him immediately.

"Mundungus!"

The man with splayed legs and messy ginger hair was startled. An antique suitcase in his arms fell to the ground and bounced off, spilling all kinds of things all over the floor.Mundungus Fletcher is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and at the same time, according to Sirius, he is also a complete liar and thief. I think the box is probably filled with stolen goods.

"Oh, hello, Harry," Mundungus put on a brisk expression, and hurriedly picked up the things on the ground, "don't let me take your time."

Those tattered old things looked quite familiar, and I was wondering if they were stolen from somewhere I'd been, when Ron raised a goblet and asked.Subconsciously, I glanced back and saw a familiar emblem engraved on the silver surface.

Before I knew it, I was pinning Mundungus by the neck against the brick wall, my wand on his chin, grabbing him by the collar and pulling down until our noses almost touched.His strong smell of tobacco and spirits made me sick, and I recalled painfully the last time I saw Sirius.

"You stole this thing from Sirius' house," I said, ignoring Ron and Hermione's exclamation and obstruction, staring into Mundungus' terrified eyes, "it has the coat of arms of the Black family on it."

"I-didn't-what?" stammered Mundungus, slowly turning liver-coloured.

"What did you do?" I growled, turning my wandless hand to his neck, hoping he would resist so that I would have a reason to blow his face off. "On the night he died, you went and Was that place looted?"

Soon Mundungus' face started to turn blue, and my hand popped off his neck with a thump, and he spun and disappeared instantly.I couldn't stop it, I turned around and yelled, Ron rushed over and shook my shoulders, Hermione grabbed my hand, I saw their terrified expressions, and realized that I almost strangled someone just now.

"I—I—" I was still looking around frantically, "the thief—"

"I think he's Apparated away, out of reach," said a soft, hesitant voice. "Did he steal anything from you, Harriet?"

My first reaction was to snarl at the owner of the voice, and then I immediately bit the accusations about the shameless thief in my mouth. Ron let me go, and Hermione leaned next to me, still holding my hand, gently Squeeze it lightly.

Alvin Fisher stood at the door of the bar, looking in amazement at the chaos in front of him.

"I—yes," I swallowed the accusation along with the thought that I now own 12 Grimmauld Place, "he—stole something I had deposited in one place. "

"Are they important?" Alvin asked with concern.

"Not at all." I remembered Sirius' aversion to ancestral possessions, and seeing that Alvin didn't seem very convinced, I added: "It's nothing special, but I really hate thieves."

"Mundungus is probably in London by now, and there's no use in shouting."

Tonks appeared out of nowhere, her face impassive, her hair the same dull gray-brown color as the last time I saw her, wet from rain and snow.I remembered what McGonagall mentioned about the members of the society patrolling around Hogwarts in shifts. Maybe Tonks had followed us since we left the castle, but I watched Mundungus escape. I suddenly felt very dissatisfied with her.

"Let's go in, I'm freezing," said Hermione quickly, squeezing my hand again.

I glanced at Alvin hesitantly, and a few people poked their heads behind him, including Leon Griffin and another Hufflepuff player, Cazareth Smith.

Hermione let go of me immediately, and pushed Ron into the bar, somehow getting the others in too.Tonks didn't go in, but retreated a little further away.Alvin and I looked at each other for a few seconds in the cold wind, I shivered, he took a step closer to me, and stopped again.

"Let's go in first, it's too cold outside," he said, stepping aside and beckoning me to go into the bar.

"I—want to be alone for a while." I tried to keep my teeth from chattering, and noticed that he was wearing thin clothes, and he didn't wear a hat or scarf. "You really don't wear much."

"I'm not too cold," Alvin smiled awkwardly, "my friends call me 'Sunman' sometimes, and my middle name is Simon, uh, I mean—"

"You do have sunny blonde hair," I said, and Alvin froze.I looked at his face strangely, and then suddenly realized that I probably had the same expression when facing Cedric.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you seem to have mentioned Sirius just now—" Thinking that maybe the whole bar heard me yelling Sirius' name just now, I felt even more uncomfortable.Alvin obviously regretted bringing up this topic, and continued after a pause, "—I've heard that he is your godfather?"

"Yes, and the bravest good man I've ever met," I emphasized, adding, "Mundungus—the thief just now—stole what he left me."

"I regret that."

"You don't regret it." There was sincerity in his tone beyond sympathy, and it stabbed me like a knife. "You don't know him at all, you only know that he is a dead fugitive. He is just a photo on the headlines for you. , has nothing to do with you."

Alvin was stunned by my outburst, and after a while he said slowly: "I'm sorry for you, Harriet, you lost your relatives and friends; I'm also sorry for him, no one should bear that kind of injustice."

I was speechless, murmured "Sorry" and entered the bar.As I sat down next to Ron and Hermione, I heard the booing of Alvin's friends. Ron looked like he wanted to fight with them. Hermione stuffed two chocolates into his hand and poured a large steaming cup Butterbeer pushed towards me.I picked up the cup, feeling the heat tingle my numb fingers.

"So, how did you talk?" Hermione asked, and Ron straightened up immediately, and she gave him a blank look.

"Not bad. I mean, he's a nice guy." I cradled the glass whole in my hand to keep warm. "Nothing else, he's not—not my type."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. He drank butterbeer slowly without saying a word, obviously thinking that his style was noble and deep, and his glances from time to time revealed that he was trying to attract Rosmer who had just returned to the bar. Ms. Tower's attention.The proprietress of the Three Broomsticks is still full of charm in her thirties. There are not a few boys who have a crush on her, but not many people really dare to flirt with her. The story of her pouring a whole pot of boiling wine on a drunk is very popular. Her beauty is just as wide.

Hermione turned her back on Ron firmly, looking at me thoughtfully.