Harriet Potter

Another gust of wind blew by, and I opened my eyes, tensing my nerves.The tent rattled and rattled for a while, and I regained my composure. I let out a breath, curled up a little tighter in the sleeping bag, and closed my eyes again, trying to fall asleep.This happened several times a night, and my sleep became lighter and lighter, and sometimes the sound of dead grass rubbing would wake me up.The funny thing is, my trepidation has less to do with enemies who might come to take my life or sacrifice me to Voldemort - they seem a little too far away at the moment, and more to do with me collapsing at any moment, A tent blown over by the wind, or soaked in icy rain.

My donkey skin bag has all the significant things I can carry with me - old photos of my parents, fragments of Sirius' last gift, RAB's locket, the snitch bequeathed by Dumbledore, quest done Most of the items needed, and the only Horcrux I've found so far.They're enough to keep me going on my mission, well, as long as I survive.

All the necessities are in Hermione's little bag, I don't have a tent, food, sleeping bag, toiletries, change of clothes or coins, neither wizard nor Muggle, which is probably why they didn't suspect that I planned to leave long ago one of the reasons.I didn't actually realize I was planning it until I did it, although it was pretty obvious - marked maps, Horcrux books, Polyjuice Potions, potions, Weasley's magic Trick products... what other reason would I have to quietly transfer them all to myself?I was confused for a few minutes after I Apparated from the Hog's Head that night, something banging on my brain receded, and I didn't understand why I was alone in this empty meadow.It wasn't until I recognized the corner of the park where the Dursleys had had a picnic that I realized: I left Ron and Hermione.

That night I spent the night on a park bench, barely falling asleep, and by dawn my hands and feet were so cold that I lost consciousness.I donned the Invisibility Cloak when I saw residents looming in the distance, thought about going back to Ron and Hermione, and went to the nearest camping rental to steal a tent.Then I added a sleeping bag, a water bottle, a toothbrush, and a few items of clothing, all of which have been slow-moving over the past few years. Warehouse theft is linked.There was no room left in the donkey skin bag after stuffing it into the tent and sleeping bag, so I stole another hiking bag to hold the rest.When I was trekking through the wilderness with them on my back, I would think that Hermione must have scorned my theft, or that Ron would have snatched the bag and carried it himself if he was there. I always thought about them, as if the next moment I Will go back to the tent with them.But a day passed, two days passed, a week passed, and I still didn't go back, and there was a strange emptiness and silence all around me, as if the land called "Life in Harry Potter" had been going on for the past few years. There was a lively, yelling mandrake, and now it's been completely uprooted.The pain of the scar became the new background sound, and it persisted, sometimes accompanied by violent heartbeats, and I tried not to be startled at such times.

In the first week, I did almost nothing except learn how to survive and do everything by myself. To be honest, I rarely thought about what magic artifacts and a person who is proficient in magic brought on this journey. How convenient it is. "Building and forming" can directly set up a tent, but it will not choose the most suitable place for you to camp, and tents without magic cannot stand anywhere; "waterproof and moistureproof" can prevent the tent from leaking, But it can't prevent the water seepage from the ground below and the cold wind pouring in; the tent is narrow even by my stature, and once I got out of the tent, my hair got stuck on the zipper at the top of the tent door, and I struggled Still had to cut them for several minutes; building a fire in the tent to keep warm was clearly no longer viable, and my first attempt at one almost ended in a forest fire.

Magic helps me steal everything I need to survive, but there are times when I need cash.It is one thing to take something from an empty warehouse, but it is another thing to use the Flying Curse to steal a wallet from someone else's pocket. When I was walking around the street looking for the target, I thought that if there was no invisibility cloak, everyone would be dead. You can tell at a glance that I'm a thief.Fortunately, I picked up one in a mall two hours later, and there were about twenty pounds in it. It is another good news that the coins conjured by the copying spell can be used normally.Twice I used Polyjuice Potion to turn into a Muggle and go to a town near my foothold, just to have a hot meal, fill the kettle with hot tea or coffee, and strike up a conversation.

The last time I did this, I walked out of the store with freshly baked bread and saw a pumpkin-shaped decorative light hanging at the door of a gift shop not far away. I realized that Halloween was coming, so I did that before leaving. A good idea jumped into my head: a trip to Godric's Hollow.I wanted to go right away, but I decided to go after spending a few days practicing Apparating and Apparating under the Invisibility Cloak and stealing a hair.Hermione would be proud of it, and although she can no longer hold me back on the grounds that the Death Eaters must have guessed I'd go to my parents' grave, her voice is still in my head urging me to be prepared for any eventuality.I'm not going to put it off any longer though, all the books on modern wizarding history say the last time the "Girl Who Lived" killed Voldemort, and Halloween is the anniversary of my parents' death.

Half asleep and half awake until dawn, I opened the door of the tent, and the blue and white morning light rushed in.There was still a whole day before departure, I ate a few mouthfuls of bread that had cooled and hardened, practiced Apparation a few times outside the tent, and finally got back into my sleeping bag tremblingly, and took out the donkey skin bag. I picked up the "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore" and started to look through it.There is no better choice, either it or "cutting edge black magic", compared to Horcruxes, visceral sacrifices to summon evil spirits, and blood as a magic circle to summon flames and people to die together, Skeeter's book is more suitable pastime.

I have long experienced Skeeter's writing style. This woman is very good at unfolding and distorting around the leftovers of the truth, creating monsters that are enough to sensationalize.And the reason why she can become famous is that the vast majority of readers are absolutely impossible and will not have the interest to verify how much truth lies behind those vivid words, just like it is impossible for me to get out of the tent and ask Dumbledore about him. Was it a Squib sister who had been imprisoned since childhood, or had he ever intended to rule Muggles alongside Gellert Grindelwald.But the photos and letters used in the book are real. I did see Dumbledore, who was my age, standing next to a blond boy, young and elegant, with sharp eyes and high spirits; His letter paints a picture of the "greater good" with a passion I've never seen before, and there are parts of it I'm already familiar with: I know what he can plot and sacrifice for something big and important.

—though he may never be free from it.I remember the sound of Dumbledore struggling and begging in that dark cave, the way he looked at me like he could die a thousand times for it if there was any other way to end it, and I watched him protect until the very end A student who never respected him was spared from killing.I think convincing myself that this is enough, but not even Occlumency makes self-deception easy, and I wish Dumbledore himself had told me that he, too, was irreparably wrong in blind desire, Wish I didn't have to pick their fragments from a pile of junk called "Skeeter's Words."Scrimgeour laughed at me for being a Dumbledore through and through, that Dumbledore didn't need a chain to lead me by the nose; and I was a fool who only wished I'd glimpsed a part of him to prove it wasn't. so easy.

In the evening, it began to rain lightly, and the water droplets hit the tent sporadically through the blocking of the branches.I ate the last bit of bread, drank the stale coffee in the jug, and got up to pack my things.Ten minutes later I was standing in a clearing with my bag on my back, throwing a lock of curly brown hair into a bottle of Polyjuice Potion from a tennis player my age.Finding the right target is not easy, I can't carry a lot of different sizes of clothing, and I'm very picky about the shape of the morphing target.

I manifested in a frosty alley, colder than the forest where I had camped, with shards of ice mixed with the rain.In order to avoid the situation of water dripping out of nowhere, I put away the invisibility cloak, put on the hood of my coat, and recited a waterproof and moisture-proof spell to myself.The coolness quickly spread to my head through the fabric, and I walked past those dripping front doors, roofs, and porches, trying to remember something, even though I knew it was impossible and I was only a little over a year old when I left.

Turning the alley to the left, the center of the village - a small square appeared in front of my eyes.In the center of the square is a war monument-like building surrounded by shops, a post office, a bar, and a chapel.This weather is not suitable for walking or begging for sugar. There are only a few children dressed as ghosts walking unrelentingly on the empty street. I pass by their elongated shadows stretched by street lights and hurry forward until I see the church. behind the cemetery.For a moment I was overwhelmed with shuddering terror, not sure if I wanted to see what I was about to see, and then I walked on again, stopping again in the middle of the square.

The name-laden obelisk turned into statues of three figures as I approached: a man with disheveled hair and glasses, a long-haired woman with a beautiful, kind face, and a woman sitting on her mother's arms. baby girl in.The rain trickled down their stony cheeks, and I thought absurdly that maybe they were crying, but they looked so happy and peaceful, baby smiles pure, no scars on their brows.I think they all died the same night.

I went on toward the church, pushed open the narrow door at the entrance to the cemetery, and stepped over the puddles on the flagstone path into the depths of the shadows.Rows of tombstones emerged from the darkness. I lit my wand, wandered among the dry grass covered with water droplets, and bent down to examine the inscriptions on each tombstone.The rain thread became a densely woven silver curtain in the fluorescent light of the tip of the wand, and the water began to seep into the crevices of my clothing. I cast another spell, with little effect.

There are a lot of surnames on the tablet that I have seen at Hogwarts, and I sometimes secretly wonder whether I have seen a lost relative of a classmate, or whether it is possible that they still live here.Sometimes several generations of the same wizarding family are listed on the same tombstone, and the chronology shows that some of these families have died out, and some descendants have left Godric's Hollow.Then I saw the names of Candela and Ariana Dumbledore, and Dumbledore's dead relatives were buried in the same graveyard as my parents, which seemed to him a mere coincidence that didn't even need to be mentioned.I turned and walked away, walking farther and farther in the cemetery, feeling a thrill of fear and anticipation as I approached each headstone.

I found it, and the tombstone of James and Lily Potter was only two rows away from Dumbledore's family. The white marble stood out in the dark, and I couldn't help but wonder who chose and designed it.The thought was thrown out of my mind when I could see the stele fully, the writing gleaming in the dark, and I didn't have to lean over to read it.

James Potter Lily Potter

生于1960年3月27日生于1960年1月30日

卒于1981年10月31日卒于1981年10月31日

The last enemy to destroy is death

I'm used to having that sadness together, but now it's pouring out and overwhelming me.It took me a moment to ponder what the inscription meant, and then I decided I didn't care that, in any way, my parents never "eliminated" death.They lie buried under the earth, bones and dirt, who once loved me more than themselves, and now they don't care or care that I'm standing next to them.They're long gone, and I'm still struggling on my final journey, and I can't remember why I'm doing it.I wanted to Apparate straight away, then remembered that Dumbledore had said that apparating into someone's house was almost as rude as kicking down someone's door, and leaving like that probably wasn't too far off.Since I failed to bring anything, at least walk away with respect, though the dead don't blame me - if they could, I'd be more than happy to accept the blame.

I slipped out of the cemetery, dimly aware that someone was watching me through the rain, and a few times I must have heard the bushes buckling under a weight far greater than that of a cat or a bird.So I went to the square, looked at the monument that stood where the statue was, and waited for a while.

Nothing happened.In fact, if it was a few Death Eaters who had already seen through my disguise, there would be no reason for them to let me walk back to this open area where residents pass by from time to time.However, I gave up the idea of ​​going into the bar to keep warm, and turned into a dark alley instead, so that at least no one would be accidentally injured in the melee because of my misjudgment.