The days of hanging out at Hogwarts

The last Sunday in March, Easter.

Loren sat under a tree by the lake, on a recliner made of deformed branches.

March was about to end, the chill had completely subsided, the weather was getting warmer, the spring sunshine was comfortable and gentle, and it felt warm on his body. Loren only wore a wizard robe over his shirt, only buttoned one button to prevent the lapel from being completely open, without a tie, and his posture was lazy and casual.

The sun shone on the lake, a brilliant golden piece, the breeze blew, ripples rose, and the sparkling water light suddenly fluctuated, a little dazzling, he couldn't help but look away and look at the shore.

The ancient giant squid just stretched its tentacles out of the water, and a Gryffindor freshman carefully approached and gently touched the suction cup on the tentacles. The giant squid was not annoyed, and the end shook slightly in response to the little wizard's greeting, and the crowd cheered.

In a trance, it seemed to see him when he was a freshman when he first entered school.

"Hermione."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to call you."

"..."

Hermione glanced at him and continued to turn the pages of the magazine.

The girl was wearing the same clothes as her, a standard shirt with a dark magic robe, no tie, but all the buttons were buttoned. She sat cross-legged on the grass with a beautifully printed book in front of her. Her ankles were white and delicate.

The cover of the book was covered with a layer of bright film, with bright colors. It was a little reflective in the sun. Unlike other wizard magazines, those overly exquisite patterns would not move. It was said that it was printed by Muggle research enthusiasts using Muggle technology. It was not even a formal association. The readers were even rarer than "The Quibbler", and only a few copies were printed a year.

The article about reflections on magical transportation patterns triggered by Apparition has been published. The little witch's hand is a sample copy sent by the publisher, with a symbolic remuneration attached. Although the amount is meager, Hermione is obviously very happy. After reading all the articles, she is doing the 9×9 Sudoku crossword puzzle on the last page of the magazine with great interest.

"Heh..."

Loren yawned and leaned over to the girl's shoulder boredly, watching her fill the numbers into the grid after repeated thinking, so that each square and each line contains the numbers 1-9. This logically rigorous game gave her a pleasure similar to the satisfaction of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Loren looked at it for a while and couldn't help but start pointing:

"Fill in 3 here."

"Fill in 6 here."

"Fill in the corner grid first."

At this time, Hermione turned her head, her beautiful eyebrows slightly wrinkled, and just looked at him straight.

Loren suddenly got excited, raised his eyebrows, and cried out: "Write! Why are you looking at me? The answer is on my face?"

"..." Hermione closed the book and put it into the pendant, "I don't want to play anymore, save it for next time."

"Next time and next time, next time and next time, there are not so many next times in life, your class is the laziest class I have ever taught, when we were studying..."

Hermione sighed a little tiredly. Although she liked this person, she had to admit that sometimes this voice was too noisy and a bit annoying.

I really don't know where this person got so much nonsense from, clacking non-stop.

She looked up at this person, his eyes blinked from time to time, as if he really thought these words were very interesting, and he would also make inexplicable movements, his eyes moved down, fell on the lips, lowered his head and moved forward-

The annoying sound was blocked.

Loren opened his eyes wide, and his first reaction was that this student actually interrupted him, and then the will of an excellent teacher quickly sank.

The most gentle thing was the closing of his eyes.

The giant squid's tentacles brushed across the water, and the sound of water splashing was crisp and pleasant, with ripples spreading.

The thin branches turned into a lounge chair and turned into a swing. The seat could accommodate two people. They sat side by side, with their calves hanging naturally. When they stepped on their toes, the swing swayed.

"Tell me! Do you want to kiss me from the bottom of your heart, or do you just want to block my mouth."

"Both."

"Miss Granger is good at kissing."

"..."

"Wrong, Miss Granger is a good kisser."

"Bang!"

...

There were birds chirping softly in the dark, the sound was crisp and familiar.

"Gu?"

"..."

"Gugu..."

"Fawkes, be quiet, don't disturb him to rest."

Then an old man spoke in a low voice, which was not clear, but gave people a sense of security.

Harry's heart suddenly became soft, and then gradually woke up. The sounds around him quickly approached, and even the breeze passing by became clearly audible. He suddenly remembered who the two were talking.

"Fawkes, Dumbledore!"

Harry opened his eyes and sat up in the warm afterglow of the sunset. His soft pajamas were wrinkled. He fumbled to put on his glasses and saw the finely crafted silver kettle spewing smoke. Looking along the spout, Dumbledore, wearing a gray wizard robe, stood in front of the window. His face was covered with wrinkles, and his crooked nose and silver beard were dyed golden.

He was a little dazed and came to his senses: "This... Sir, I slept all day?"

Dumbledore turned around when he woke up, with a gentle look in his blue eyes: "I think you were too tired last night. How did you sleep? Did you have a good dream?"

Before Harry answered, his stomach made a noise first, and he moved his eyes away a little shyly.

Dumbledore laughed and said softly: "Here are some biscuits, fill your stomach first."

Harry picked up the attractively colored butter biscuit on the table and took a small bite. The sweet smell hit him, and the glands under the tip of his tongue secreted saliva wildly. The biscuit particles softened into a smooth and smooth fluid, flowing all the way into his empty stomach. Carbohydrates and fats bring the most substantial comfort, and this body feeds back the most instinctive pleasure.

"A tip, just a tip, don't let the cookies take up too much space in your stomach, it's dinner time and I hear Easter dinner is pretty big."

"Well..."

Harry nodded to accept the suggestion, but still stuffed seven or eight biscuits, took another sip of hot tea, and sighed with contentment.

"I was always like this when I was young. I spent the whole afternoon wandering in the forest and meadows, and then ran home when the sun went down and my stomach growled with hunger. Before dinner time, my mother would always scold me. , and then, unable to withstand my pleading, he brought me some food to fill my stomach first..."

Dumbledore's eyes showed nostalgia, "Sometimes it's candy, sometimes it's butter biscuits, sometimes it's pie or bread prepared for dinner. If you ask me, it's the most delicious food in my memory."

Harry didn't know why he said this, so he could only drink tea in silence.

"I have lived for more than a hundred years, Harry. If I were asked to choose the happiest and most meaningful time in my life, it must be the years spent with my family." Dumbledore picked up the tea cup and took a sip, "My mother , Ariana... I often think about it, if there is a chance to bring my family back to life..."

Harry looked up, his eyes flashing with hope, like an owl expecting postage.

"Life is beautiful, being with family is beautiful, and it is natural for a child to want to save his mother. I should not and will not stop you." Dumbledore said slowly and gently, "But I hope you stay sane, Harry."

Harry's heart settled down, and warmth flowed out.

"I have many doubts, sir."

"I'll try my best to answer it for you."

"Who is the Half-Blood Prince?"

"You'll find out soon, but not now."

"Can I trust him?"

"At least you can trust me when it comes to resurrecting your mother."

"What is the method of resurrection?"

"This is a very complex magical consciousness that involves many disciplines. To be honest, even I don't know it clearly."

"This...I...can it really be done?"

"Follow your heart, Harry."

"..."

Harry was suddenly a little scared. He felt that Dumbledore was a little confused. How could he leave such a big thing up to him? But it was undeniable that the idea had taken root in his mind and was constantly absorbing nutrients and growing. It was better than beating people. The willows are even more active and stronger than the century-old trees in the Forbidden Forest.

He raised his head, and the setting sun shone through the window on his face, shining into his green eyes, and the burning light was brilliant.

…

Hall, Easter Dinner.

The setting sun completely sank into the horizon, and Hogwarts Castle lit up with colorful candlelight.

The students sat around the long table of the house, chirping and exchanging Easter eggs. The whole room was filled with the unique aroma of chocolate. The egg that one unlucky guy gave to his favorite girl was bought at Weasley's Joke and Trick Shop. How many eggs did he open? It was a squeaking white mouse, the frightened girl screamed that she wanted to break off the relationship, and the other classmates who were watching the fun burst into laughter.

The professors at the guest table looked at the little wizards in the audience with smiles on their faces.

Loren and Hermione sat at the back of the Gryffindor table, diagonally opposite Ginny and Ron.

Two familiar figures, an old man and a young man, walked in from the door. Principal Dumbledore walked straight towards the guest seat. Ron waved to Harry quickly: "! Here! Here!"

Harry walked quickly and sat down between the two of them.

Ron couldn't wait to ask: "You have been with Dumbledore all day. Did you find any important clues from Slughorn's memory? Can you defeat Voldemort?"

Harry glanced at Loren who was not far away, opened his mouth, but stopped talking.

Ron looked stunned: "I understand, I understand..."

This reaction stunned Harry. What do you understand?

"You have to keep it a secret, right?" Ron lowered his voice, "Can't you even tell us?"

"..."

"Don't disturb him."

Ginny pushed his head away and handed Harry an Easter egg. It looked like it was the work of Mrs. Weasley. "Ignore him. I heard Loren say that you didn't have a good rest last night. After dinner, Go back and rest early.”

Harry looked into her eyes and nodded heavily: "Yes!"

Ron looked at the two tired people, one was his best friend and the other was his sister. He always felt a little awkward, so he couldn't help but reach out and scratch his head.

There are no colorful ribbons or twelve lush Christmas trees. The Easter dinner is not as luxurious as the Christmas dinner. In terms of decoration, it is not even as good as the pumpkins and bats of Halloween. However, the dishes and scale of the Easter dinner are better than those of the Christmas dinner. It’s also grand, as long as all the food related to Easter is prepared, Easter special roast rabbit, stewed lamb, roast chicken...

Sir Nicholas and Myrtle led the ghosts to perform their own plays. The content of the story fits the Easter theme very well. The main plot is that after their death, they wandered the world again in ghost form.

Nick's story is a bit cliché. After his death, he turned into a ghost and wandered back to the castle from the Muggle world. Because of his head that was not completely cut off, he made many jokes along the way. With appropriate drama adaptation, the students laughed;

Myrtle's story this time did not focus on the basilisk, but told the story after her death. After returning to the world in the form of a ghost, she began to follow those who had laughed and insulted her before, especially Olive Hornby...

The whole story is humorous and lively. Myrtle combined Olive Hornby's reaction to being teased to create many jokes.

The hall was filled with the aroma of food and laughter. Except for Harry, who was worried, he didn't say a word throughout the dinner. He only looked up when the ghosts performed, with a light in his eyes.

After the dinner, the roommates had dates, played chess, and walked in the astronomy tower and the common room. Harry returned to the dormitory alone and took out the familiar "Advanced Potion Making".

Looking at the scribbled words "This book belongs to the Half-Blood Prince" at the bottom of the back cover, Harry was silent for a moment, picked up the quill pen and dipped it in ink, and wrote his own words with mixed feelings:

"Who are you?"

The ink seeped into the yellowed paper and was quickly absorbed, and the Half-Blood Prince's answer emerged: "It doesn't matter."

Harry was about to refute and ask again, only to see the line of text reorganized:

"You have met Dumbledore, right?"

"Yes."

Harry's answer was very cautious, and the speed of the ink being absorbed and rearranged was slightly slower this time. It seemed that the Half-Blood Prince was thinking, and he might be wondering why Dumbledore didn't intervene.

"Since Dumbledore didn't take back this textbook, it proves that you can trust me, and you can only trust me."

"What is the method to resurrect my mother?"

"With your empty mind, it's hard for me to explain it to you clearly."

Harry frowned. Why is this textbook insulting? He continued to write: "What do I need to do?"

"Wait for me at the school gate, now."

Who is the Half-Blood Prince?

What was the conspiracy to trick him out of the castle late at night?

Could he be a dark wizard or a Death Eater?

Walking out of the castle hall, these questions were still flashing in Harry's mind, but thinking of what Dumbledore said during the day, he finally chose to trust the Half-Blood Prince.

The evening breeze blew in the face with the dampness and coolness of the late night, blowing goose bumps on his neck. The night was deep, and the incomplete crescent moon barely illuminated the path leading to the school gate. The Forbidden Forest was foggy, the greenhouse was dark, and Hagrid's hut was lit.

Harry looked back by chance and saw that his shadow was dragged very long.

The school gate was not locked, but opened a narrow gap. Harry looked at the winged boar statue, suppressed his gradually accelerating heartbeat, and squeezed out of the school gate.

There was indeed a tall figure waiting on the side of the road. Harry looked at the man's face and couldn't help exclaiming:

"Snape!"