MTL - 94 Diagon Alley-Chapter 209 Festival

Near. So the next day, Hermione, who thought there was a clue to the Gryffindor sword in Godric's Hollow, strongly persuaded Harry that they should visit the Savior's birthplace.

It didn't turn out to be nothing, but the journey was far more tortuous than Harry and Hermione expected.

They saw the mysterious Grindelwald's sign on the tombstone, looked up at the statue of Harry's parents holding a baby, learned Dumbledore's secret - and then were disguised as Bathilda The attack of Nagini the Orochi of Bagshot.

The escaped Harry had a nightmare that night about Voldemort killing his parents.

"Harry, it's alright, wake up, wake up!"

He's Harry...Harry, not Voldemort...that rustling thing isn't a snake...

He opened his eyes.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "do you think—all right?"

"Fine." He didn't tell the truth.

He was in the tent, lying on a lower bunk, covered with a pile of blankets. From the silence around him and the faint cold light of the canvas canopy, he felt that day was breaking. He was soaked in sweat and could feel it on the sheets and blankets.

"We escaped."

"Yeah," said Hermione, "I used a hover charm to get you to bed, I couldn't move you. You just... well, you weren't well..."

Her brown eyes were shaded with purple, and he saw a small sponge in her hand: she was wiping his face just now.

"You are ill," she said finally, "very ill."

"How long have we escaped?"

"It's been hours and it's almost morning."

"I've been...why, in a coma?"

"Not quite," said Hermione unnaturally, "you'll be yelling for a while, and you'll have a **** for a while, and...etc," she added in a tone that made Harry uneasy. What did he do? Shouting spells like Voldemort? Cry like a baby in the cradle?

He lay down on the pillow and looked at her haggard, gray face.

"We shouldn't be going to Godric's Hollow, it's my fault, it's all my fault, Hermione, sorry."

"It's not your fault, I want to go too, I really thought Dumbledore would leave the sword there for you to pick it up."

"Yeah, alas...we guessed wrong, didn't we?"

"What happened, Harry? What happened after she took you upstairs? Was the snake hiding somewhere? Did it jump out and kill her and attack again? you?"

"No," he said, "she is that snake...or that snake is her..."

"W-what?"

He closed his eyes and smelled Bathilda's house on him, which made the whole thing horrific.

"Bathilda was probably dead for a while. The snake was...in her body. You-Know-Who left it in Godric's Hollow to wait. You're right, he know I'll be back."

"That snake in her body?"

He opened his eyes again: Hermione seemed sick to the point of vomiting.

"Lupin said there would be magic we can't imagine," Harry said, "Bahilda didn't want to talk to you just now because it was Parseltongue, I didn't realize it. But of course, I get it. As soon as we got to that room upstairs, the snake reported to You-Know-Who, what I heard in my head, and I felt him get excited, and he said he wanted to see me there …Then…"

He remembered the snake jumping out of Bathilda's neck, and Hermione didn't need to know those details.

“…she changed, turned into that snake, attacked.”

He looked down at the hole in his arm.

"It's not going to kill me, it's just keeping me there until the mysterious man arrives."

If he could kill the snake, it would be worth it, it would be all in vain... He was very frustrated, sat up and lifted the blanket.

"Harry, no, you need to rest!"

"You need to go to bed. Don't take offense, you look really ugly. I'm fine, I'll keep the whistle for a while. Where's my wand?"

She didn't answer, just looked at him.

"Where's my wand, Hermione?"

She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. "Harry..." She reached over to the bed, picked it up and handed it to him.

The holly and phoenix wands were almost broken in two. A fragile phoenix feather held the two pieces together, and the wood was completely broken. Harry held it in his hands as if he were holding a badly wounded life. He couldn't think, his mind was full of panic and fear. Then he handed the wand to Hermione.

"Fix it, please."

"Harry, I don't think so, it's broken like this-"

"Please, Hermione, give it a try!"

"Re-recovery."

The swaying half wand is connected. Harry lifted it up.

"Flicker!"

The wand flickers faintly, then goes out. Harry pointed it at Hermione.

"Except your weapons!"

Hermione's wand tilted, but it didn't let go. The futility of the attempt had overwhelmed Harry's wand, and it snapped in two. He looked at it, petrified, unable to comprehend what was in front of him... this battle-hardened wand...

"Harry," said Hermione, his voice so soft that he could barely hear, "I'm very, very sorry. I think I did it. You know, when we escaped, the serpent was Pounced, so I cast a blast spell, and it bounced all over the place, it must have—must have hit—"

"It was an accident," Harry said mechanically, feeling empty and foggy. "We—we'll find a way to fix it."

"Harry, I don't think there's any other way," Hermione said, tears streaming down, "Remember... remember Ron? After his wand broke in a car accident, Gwen said whatever. It couldn't be repaired, so he had to buy another one."

Harry thought of Ollivander, who was kidnapped and held by Voldemort, thought of Gregorovitch, who was dead. How could he find a new wand?

"Oh," he said in an ordinary tone, "Okay, then I'll borrow yours for a while. I'll go watch."

Hermione handed her wand with tears on her face. Harry left her alone on the edge of the bed, and he just wanted to leave her at the moment.

Reunited friends and unexpected guests

When Hermione came for a shift change at midnight, it snowed outside. Harry's dreams were chaotic; Nagini swam in and out, first through a huge, cracked ring, then through a wreath of Christmas roses. He woke up in horror again and again, believing that someone had called his name from a distance just now, and imagined the sound of the wind blowing against the tent as footsteps and talking.

Finally, he got up in the dark and walked over to Hermione. She was curled up at the entrance of the tent, reading History of Magic by the light of her wand. The heavy snow was still falling, and when she heard his suggestion to pack up and move things early, she readily agreed.

"It has to be somewhere more secluded." She agreed, adding a sweatshirt to her pajamas while shivering, "I always feel like I hear people walking outside, and once or twice It looks like I saw a figure."

Harry, who was wearing his jumper, stopped and looked at the silent, motionless looking glass of the table.

"I believe it's hallucination," said Hermione, looking a little nervous, "snow in the dark, it's easy to deceive the eye...but maybe we should Apparate under the invisibility cloak to Just in case, right?"

Half an hour later, when the tent was packed, Harry Apparated with Hermione clutching the beaded bag. The familiar suffocation engulfed them, and Harry's feet left the snow and landed **** the ground, like a permafrost covered with fallen leaves.

"Where are we?" he asked, surveying the unfamiliar forest. Hermione had opened the beaded packet and began to pull the tent poles out.

“The Forest of Dean,” she said, “I came camping here once, with Mom and Dad.”

It's freezing cold here, and the woods are covered in silver, but at least they can keep out the wind. They spent most of their time in tents, huddled up by those bright blue flames that Hermione was good at creating. These flames are so useful that they can be scooped up and carried around in a bottle. Harry felt like he was recovering from a brief but serious illness, a feeling reinforced by Hermione's concern. In the afternoon, snowflakes floated in the sky again, and even the sheltered space where they were located was sprinkled with a layer of crystal powder.

Harry hadn't slept much for two nights, and his senses seemed more alert. The escape from Godric's Hollow was so thrilling that Voldemort seemed closer and more threatening than ever. Night fell again, and Harry refused to let Hermione keep watch and told her to go to bed.

Harry moved an old cushion and sat at the entrance of the tent, wearing all his sweaters, still shivering from the cold. The darkness grew thicker and thicker, almost impenetrable. He was about to take out the Marauder's map and look at Ginny's black spot for a while, when he remembered that it was Christmas and she should be at the Burrow.

In the big forest, every little movement seems to be amplified. Harry knew there must be many animals in the woods, but he wanted them all to be quiet, lest he mix their harmless running and creaking with other sounds of danger. He remembered the sound of the cloak sliding on the dead leaves many years ago, and immediately felt as if he heard it again, and quickly shook his head. Protection magic has been working for so many weeks, how could it not work now? However, he couldn't shake a feeling that something seemed out of the ordinary tonight.

Harry sat up abruptly several times, his neck stiff and sore, as he fell asleep leaning against the tent wall unknowingly. The night was darker, a velvety black, and he seemed to be suspended between Apparition and Apparition. He is about to