svetikya Chapter 215 Prove the Principal's Oath
Chapter 215 Prove the Principal's Oath
Chapter 215 Prove the Principal's Oath
Picking up where we left off, Ron mentions that Snape and Karkaroff are both old Death Eaters, but Hermione doesn't doubt them and opposes Moody's decision with some ulterior motives.
Ron assumed she had this suspicion because he had seen Moody suddenly act erratically in class, so he shook his head and advised, "I dare say you've definitely misunderstood him, Hermione."
"Moody was an Auror who was on the front lines and dealt ruthlessly to the Death Eaters back then, so it's normal for him to suffer some psychological trauma."
Hermione still frowned, gently waving her hand, "This has nothing to do with psychological trauma, it's just—"
"Harry, when you were eavesdropping, you didn't hide; you used an invisibility cloak that blended into you, right?"
Upon hearing this, Harry felt a fleeting, almost imperceptible spark of inspiration and quickly clasped his hands in agreement, "Exactly!"
"So here's the question," Hermione said, clapping her hands together. "What's the origin of Moody's Mystic Eye? How can it see through the Deathly Hallows?"
These words truly shattered his illusions. Harry felt a sudden enlightenment, and he slapped his thigh, exclaiming, "That's it! That's it! I've been pondering this for so long tonight, struggling to grasp the essence, but now I understand!"
Ron sipped his wine, still hesitant, and said, "But what if the Deathly Hallows weren't forged by Death himself?"
"In fact, the idea that 'Death forged the Deathly Hallows' has always been a false premise and has never been proven, right?"
"What about Harry's Animagus being a magical creature?"
Hermione immediately raised her eyebrows and retorted, "The Animagus have existed for hundreds of years, and I've never heard of any wizard being able to transform into a magical creature."
"That's because Harry's transformation process was irregular; there were at least dozens of irregular steps. How could it be the same as a normal Animagus?"
Hermione's voice suddenly rose, as if a silver bottle had shattered and water was spilling out, "But Harry still successfully transformed, and there wasn't even an abnormal reaction!"
"That's because the invisibility cloak blocks Death's vision!"
Ron didn't refute this time, but frowned slightly and said slowly, "You seem to really hope that the story of the Deathly Hallows is true."
He glanced again at the unconscious Grindelwald beside him, suppressing the urge to cast an Imperius Curse, and asked, "What exactly are you plotting with Grindelwald?"
"I just asked him to do some special training for me." Hermione suddenly softened her tone and sighed, "My life has been too smooth; I can't unleash the true power of the Unforgivable Curse."
These words were like a thunderclap from a clear sky, instantly shattering all of Ron's doubts and leaving him unable to recall anything at all.
His lips twitched as he said, "Can't Harry help you with this? Or can I?"
"No one can withstand a single blow from my fully charged five-spell spell."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't talk nonsense. Even Professor Dumbledore wouldn't dare to do that."
Suddenly remembering something, he looked around and asked, "Where did Crookshan go?"
Upon hearing this, Ron quickly looked up at Filch. He saw the fellow with Crookshan on his left and Lady Lorris on his right, strutting around in circles with a drunken gait, a hint of spring in his otherwise withered face.
"Oh, damn it, I forgot about this cat."
Ron cursed and hurried off to Filchso the cat.
Once he was far away, only Harry and Hermione remained at the table, sitting opposite each other, their eyes meeting.
Hermione knew that Harry was also quick-witted; his words might have fooled Ron, but they couldn't hide them from Scarface.
She was hesitating whether to speak the truth when Harry suddenly clasped his hands in a gesture of respect and asked, "Big sister, do you have a moment to spare right now?"
Hermione was taken aback, then puffed out her cheeks slightly and said reproachfully, "Of course I have, I canceled everything for tonight."
Harry extended his hand and said seriously, "In that case, may I ask you, elder sister, to dance with me?"
Hermione had never seen Harry act like this before, and she was instantly frozen in place, staring blankly at the slap.
The once sharp and clever mind is now blocked, unable to utter a single word of its wit; the usually eloquent tongue is now curled up, and all its schemes turn into silence.
Harry didn't give her time to think further, simply raising his hand in mid-air and saying to himself, "I already know what you mean, elder sister, and now I am filled with deep regret."
"My first regret is that I didn't go to find my elder sister sooner; my second regret is that I wasted several days practicing dance with you."
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"However, since Heaven still has a little time left today, let's finish what we started and make it a complete ending."
As the saying goes, "It's easier to change mountains and rivers than to change one's nature." This scarred man wasn't one for romantic frivolity. Hermione had been bewildered just moments before, but now, hearing his mature and worldly-wise words, she felt a sweet joy welling up inside her, as if she'd drunk honey water. It's like the saying, "Hemp growing among weeds will straighten itself without support." That's the very principle at play.
Hermione took a deep breath and gently placed her slender hand in Harry's palm.
Just as she was about to get up, she suddenly felt a gust of wind in her skirt and her calves felt cold. She said embarrassedly, "But my skirt is already torn, and my hair is a mess."
Harry laughed loudly, "I'm destined to die with my elder sister, not with that clothes hanger and hair bun!"
Hermione remained silent for a moment, her eyes gradually clearing, before she broke into a smile.
"it is good."
If Lockhart, who loves to show off his literary skills, were to see this scene, he would surely compose a poem. Indeed:
I promised you a ball, but you didn't show up; I wasted my youth on trivial matters for you.
Even with disheveled hair and a ruffled skirt, I only invite my elder sister, not my maid.
The strange sisters pounded the drums at a deafening roar, spewing fire and smoke from their mouths, while the lights around them swirled and flickered.
The students in the hall all shook their heads and laughed wildly, as if possessed.
Amidst the commotion, Hermione's disheveled hair and tattered dress made her appear like a piece of unpolished gold, perfectly complementing the wild and untamed atmosphere.
Unfortunately, the two of them deliberately slowed down their pace amidst the rapid and complex music, and began with a literary and exquisite dance.
This composed demeanor, though out of place with its surroundings, perfectly suited their temperament. Like two blue lotuses blooming in turbulent waves, or a pair of white cranes standing firm in a raging wind.
Not far away, Rowena was talking to Dumbledore when he caught sight of this scene and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
After the two finished dancing, they casually pointed to the air, and roses appeared out of thin air, fluttering down like a rain of flowers.
The falling flowers seemed to come out of nowhere. Hermione looked around and saw Rowena resting her chin on her hand, smiling at her.
Their eyes met, and Rowena nodded slightly before turning back to Dumbledore, saying, "Then, the deal is done, Mr. Dumbledore."
Dumbledore smiled warmly and said, "Thank you very much for your help, Ms. Ravenclaw."
As soon as the words were spoken, the copper kettle was drained, the clock struck midnight, and the Christmas ball came to an end.
The strange sisters packed up their gongs and drums and filed out; the teachers and students in the hall also dispersed in twos and threes.
Ron had been waiting for a long time, and finally managed to break free from Filch's clutches, rushing over with Crookshan in tow.
From a few steps away, he grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck and tossed it into Hermione's arms, still shaken, saying, "Don't let Filch see you with a cat, or you'll definitely want to cast a Killing Curse on him."
"Do you know what he just asked me? He asked if I would let Crookshank and Mrs. Lorris spend the night together!"
Harry clapped his hands and laughed, "Look at that Mrs. Lorris, her fur is wrinkled and her eyes are cloudy, she's clearly a withered tree stump, yet she wants to gnaw on this tender fish, Crookshanks?"
"That Filch really has a good plan."
Hermione's eyes lit up at the words, and she was about to reply when she remembered that Harry usually referred to her as "Big Sister." She swallowed the words that were on the tip of her tongue and simply patted Crookshank's back.
"But Crookshan is a girl too."
Ron was so shocked by these words that he almost dropped his eyes. He quickly pried open the cat's hind legs, lifted its tail, and examined it closely.
His face turned ashen instantly, and he pounded his chest and stamped his feet, exclaiming, "Damn it! I refused Filch for at least half an hour!"
"Who on earth gave her such a masculine name!"
Harry and Hermione both laughed, but Crookshanks, with his vertical pupils blazing with anger, bared his silver teeth and continued to glare at Ron Harry.
After laughing, the scarred man straightened his clothes and bowed to Ron and Hermione, saying, "Eldest sister and brother, please go back to your quarters and rest. You two will have to keep a close eye on Moody and investigate the suspicious things about him."
"I have a few more things to say to Professor Dumbledore."
Ron was having a really tough time on Christmas Eve and was just hoping for this greeting, so he quickly agreed and strode off.
Hermione had intended to go along, but when she looked down and saw that her clothes were disheveled and her hair was askew, she silently nodded, thinking to herself that they should discuss it another day.
After the two had gone some distance, Harry went straight to the front of the hall, and from about three feet away, he clasped his hands in a fist salute and said loudly, "Professor, you have a good eye! You recognized my sister's background the moment you saw her!"
Dumbledore smiled and replied, "Strictly speaking, I did recognize Lady Ravenclaw's powerful aura."
"This is something that modern wizards lack, even I."
Rowena nodded with satisfaction, saying, "You're just like Harry in that you speak so eloquently."
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore paused for a moment, then stroked his beard and smiled wryly, offering no further explanation.
Harry quickly crossed his arms and said, "Sister, you're mistaken! The professor is nearly a hundred years older than me, how can you say he takes after me?"
"It makes no difference to me," Rowena said lazily, waving her hand dismissively. "They're all just kids."
Harry thought to himself: If we're talking about acting like an old lady, Helena really does resemble her sister Rowena, but neither of them lived to a very old age.
Just as he was grumbling to himself, he suddenly saw Rowena get up and stretch her limbs, her slender fingers flitting like butterflies among flowers, and gently tap his forehead.
"I'm not going back to sleep tonight. I'm going to the library to check out the research findings of future wizards."
Having said that, Rowena's voice trailed off, and her figure vanished as fireflies appeared.
Dumbledore silently turned his head, scrutinizing Harry for a long while, then asked with a hint of surprise, "Harry, can you explain to me—what do you mean by not going back to sleep tonight?"
Harry ignored the question, sat down abruptly, and stared intently at her. "What were the professor and my sister discussing just now?"
"I beg Ms. Ravenclaw to find a way to separate souls."
The old headmaster, unusually, didn't mince words. He pointed to the electric scar on Harry's forehead and said frankly, "Voldemort's soul still resides in your body. This matter must be dealt with eventually."
Harry listened, a warm feeling welling up inside him, but he raised his head and laughed, "Professor, please don't trouble yourself! I have long ago sworn that once I have avenged my parents, I will draw my sword against the heavens!"
"I am a seven-foot-tall man with teeth in my mouth and hair in my hair. What I say, I dare to admit. I do not treat it as a child's game!"
These words were truly thought-provoking, and Dumbledore's eyes grew more compassionate and tender. "But you are still my student, and I cannot use you as a waste."
He had hoped Harry would say something more comforting so that the teacher and student could get closer and avoid drinking that potion that would cure his headache again. Didn't he know that every medicine has some poison in it?
But as they gazed at each other so earnestly, Harry suddenly changed his expression, slammed his hand on the table, and the cups and plates shook violently.
"Since the professor understands this principle, why did he insist on having that Snape as the instructor!"
"This scoundrel once served as Voldemort's henchman. If he intends to use this 'trapping a turtle in a jar' strategy, wouldn't he be using all the teachers and students in the entire academy as expendable resources?"
Dumbledore frowned almost imperceptibly, then reached into his robes to grab the potion bottle.
"Who told you that Snape was a Death Eater?"
Harry crossed his arms and said coldly, "If the professor wants to hold one of the snitch accountable, he should first interrogate Snape and Karkaroff about what they were plotting last night!"
He then recounted the secret conversation he had overheard with Ron by the wall.
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore frowned, "Moody—"
He muttered something to himself, then suddenly straightened his expression and said slowly, "If I'm not mistaken, they're most likely discussing the Dark Mark—the mark you saw in the sky that night at the Quidditch World Cup."
Harry already knew that the Dark Mark could not be tattooed on anyone other than Voldemort's most trusted men, and upon hearing Dumbledore's words, his pupils shrank to needle size.
As he slowly stood up, his joints cracked: "So, Karkaroff and Snape were once Voldemort's close advisors!"
Then, he slammed his palms down on the table, leaned closer, his eyes burning with malice, "Professor, have you interrogated these two bastards? Do you know which birdman leaked the prophecy back then?!"
Dumbledore could no longer contain himself. He quickly pulled out a potion bottle from his robe, uncorked it, and drank it all in one gulp.
"I told you, Harry, now is not the time to talk about this."
The more the White Lord made excuses, the more suspicious Harry became.
He sneered, "Professor, you said the same thing last year. And so it is this year, and so forth, and so forth, how many years will pass before you reveal the truth!"
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore seemed to solidify into a withered tree or a cold rock, remaining silent. Harry did not urge him either, only casting a cold glance at him.
The candlelight flickered, and it was unclear when the night watchman's drum had sounded. Suddenly, Dumbledore let out a sigh.
Three years.
"I will tell you the truth in three years at the latest."
"I won't interfere with whatever you want to do to that leaker."
The scene unfolds: Scarface glares furiously, eager to expose the culprit who leaked the prophecy; the White Lord hesitates, determined not to divulge the secrets of heaven. Harry presses for answers about the blood feud, while the Headmaster harbors deep sorrow. To find out who leaked the prophecy, only bloodshed will suffice. To find out what happens next, stay tuned for the next installment.