Remembering Me

"Jessie!" screamed, and I looked quickly at Nymphadora Tonks, grateful for the niece's wit.

Immediately, I spotted a predictable tragedy—Tonks was holding a candlestick.

In the next second, Tonks' calf hit the edge of the coffee table, and he rushed out with the candlestick.Jessica nimbly turned sideways to avoid the flames, straightened the candlestick with one hand, and put her hand on Tonks' shoulder to stop her from rushing forward.

If only this were the case, the problem would be solved.

I jumped forward when Tonks stumbled, and I was pulling her aside when Jessica grabbed her, so the candlestick, which had just been righted, tipped over, and the candle oil dripped all over Jessie's head.Jessica subconsciously took a step back and stepped into the fireplace.

"Sorry sorry!" I pulled Jessie out of the fireplace, trying to get the candle oil off her head.

"Sorry sorry!" Tonks yelled in panic, drawing out his wand to put out the fire on Jessica's robes.

"Can you put that thing down first, Tonks?" Jessica's unsplashed eye immediately noticed the candlestick still held by Tonks' other hand.

Out of panic and guilt, Tonks chanted a spell and waved his hand holding the candlestick wildly, almost setting his hair ablaze in the process.Hearing Jessica's words, she threw it aside as if awakened, and the carpet burst into flames, which were quickly extinguished by Remus who came after him.

"For the Hell'ssake." Jessica sighed, pulled out her wand and pointed to the top of her head and recited a cooling spell.

The candle oil solidified immediately, and Jessica tore off the band that tied her hair and combed her dark golden curls a few times to get rid of the wax block, then threw her hair back and tied it up again.

We were very close and I slowly reached out.When I touched her, she froze when she tied her hair, but she still didn't flinch, and looked at me with that kind of probing eyes.

"My . . . take this off." I show her a small dab of wax on my fingertip.

She blinked: "Thank you."

I looked around and noticed that people who hadn't turned their attention to bleeding Fred - Tonks, for example - were eyeing us curiously.Obviously not helping, I flicked the wax aside and cleared my throat unnecessarily: "You...uh, are you hurt?"

Jessica followed my gaze, her cuffs slipped down as she tied her hair, revealing the bandages on her forearms.

"Well, a little." She put down her hands and let her sleeves hang down, shrugging, "It doesn't matter."

"You said the same thing last Wednesday, 'It's just a little burn'." Tonks muttered, and when Jessica's eyes swept over, he suddenly raised his voice, "It's only when the bread is burned by the fire in the fireplace. It's called 'a little burn'! You're—"

"—wounds from an authentic poisonous fire spell. Thanks for reminding me." Jessica rolled her eyes. "By the way, I've only seen one person fall asleep while baking bread and slip his whole hand into the fireplace." .”

Tonks curled her lips in disbelief, I didn't pay attention to what she refuted.

last Wednesday.Great, even journalists got in on the action.

"What's wrong with you?" Jessica asked.

"Nothing." I know the answer sounds snappy, but it just makes me doubly annoyed at myself.So I turned and walked over to the couch to check on Fred.

Tricksters are alive and well, selling their mothers the "open a closet and this is what happens" explanations.The few people next to each other guessed what caused the situation. Presumably, tomorrow Molly will bring her children in full armor and open the door of the cabinet that has nothing in it.

Mad-Eye's famous fake eyes stared at the cabinet for a while, but he didn't see anything, and turned to the back of his head.He glanced at me, turned and walked back to the basement, urging everyone to hurry up and start the meeting.Compared to other people, he didn't take the tragedy of Fred's blood everywhere seriously. To him, as long as it wasn't the Unforgivable Curse, it was probably nothing.

Compared with 14 years ago, Moody is older, with one less leg and one eye, and more scars that can be seen or not.Other than that, his whole persona didn't change—no one or anything seemed to surprise or frighten him.He always sees the cruelest side of things, and for a man like him, there is no room for all the soft emotions.

I remember the day I was three months into the Auror Division, he walked into the office and asked me if I wanted to fight.James, who passed the test at the same time as me, had already started combat under the leadership of a veteran, and I would give anything to get rid of that damn paperwork.But instead of the usual responses like "I'd go to the newspaper if I wanted to sort the papers" or "I'm dying to make the world less of a 'Damn Blake'," I just looked him in the eye for a while , forcing myself not to blink, and saying, "Of course."

He knocked out the foot-thick stacks of papers on my desk that I had been working on for the previous 3 hours.But I have no anger, only a kind of excitement of opportunity and the recklessness that goes with it.

"Then remember, boy," he said loudly, "I don't care if you're black or white, from now on you'd better stop thinking about a comfortable desk or an easy job. Don't expect anyone to keep you safe , we are safe."

"Sounds great," I said.

He stared at me for a while, then turned and left the office: "Then get ready to work. Pack up the things that need to be packed, gather in the preparation room, and leave in 20 minutes."

I remember that I held my head high, walked out with the pride and stupidity of a teenager stepping on the paper all over the floor, and slammed the door in front of the astonished "companions" behind me.

We are safe.Moody said.He was an Auror, a solid, cold, impersonal wall between the war and the very people he was sworn to protect.

I made a vow, too, though not as strongly as Jaime.

I lived to be 35 years old, spent 16 years fighting staleness and madness without ever running away, spent 5 years fighting the future and killing it overnight, and spent the past 14 years obsessed with phantoms of the past, trying to find out traces of their existence.I've fought for myself for 35 years and I've lost one so far.

I stood where I was, the meeting had started, the kids were complaining about the tasks assigned to pay them off, and I suddenly didn't want to go into that room.