The Christmas holiday has begun, and this rare leisure time did not let a few people breathe a sigh of relief.
Harry's whole body fell into a mood of self-blame.
That is the powerlessness of reality, which extends to the annoyance of one's own incompetence.
The day is approaching day by day, but there is nothing they can do.
write a letter
Dumbledore may not be able to receive it.
And, as Moody said, there is the danger of being intercepted.
Hermione wasn't very good at comforting her either.
Now she also chooses to believe Harry's statement. Up to now, no matter whether she is rational or emotional, she believes that what Harry said is the truth.
But they couldn't convince Professor McGonagall.
That was ridiculous, and it would be even worse if Snape found out in the end.
Christmas is here.
Hogsmeade village is very lively on Christmas day. In the white snow and ice, a group of men in brown leather jackets formed a circle, singing solemn prayers.
Melodious and heart-warming.
On a small road, a wizard wearing a tall hat with pointed horns rode a black bull, walking slowly in the snow, leaving footprints in the snow, one deep and one shallow, one deep and one shallow, and then quickly disappeared. The snowflakes covered and leveled off one after another.
Many students staying in school choose to spend their boring time here.
Students prefer to go to the Three Broomsticks Bar. The drinks there are more suitable for students, and there is a beautiful and charming proprietress there.
As for the Pig's Head Bar, few people went there, but some students vaguely felt that the boss there was somewhat similar to Dumbledore.
He has the same blue eyes as Dumbledore, and seems to have the same power to see through people as Dumbledore.
Inside the Hog's Head is nothing like the Three Broomsticks, where the big bar always feels bright, clean and warm.
The Hog's Head was just a small, dark, very dirty room, with a strong mutton smell. The bay windows were so thick with grime that little light could penetrate, and candle stubs were burning on rough wooden tables. At first glance, one would expect the ground to be compacted mud, but upon stepping on it, it turns out that centuries of dirt have accumulated on what was originally a stone pavement.
The environment here is too crude, and fish and dragons are mixed together.
If it weren't for avoiding sight, they certainly wouldn't have come here.
There are almost no Hogwarts students here, and it is suitable for them to discuss things that are not convenient to talk about in school.
At the foot of the bar was a man whose whole head was wrapped in a dirty gray bandage, but who was still pouring glass after glass of something smoking and flaming through a slit in the bandage over his mouth.
At a table by the window sat two hooded figures, if they weren't speaking in thick Yorkshire accents.
In a dark corner by the hearth sat a witch, a thick black veil hanging down to her feet. They could only see the tip of her nose because it pushed the mask up slightly.
They can feel a dark wizard's temperament that is incompatible with the crowd.
Of course, it is also limited to temperament, creating a false impression of deterring others.
Really dueling, maybe it's just an embroidered pillow.
After all, Hogwarts is the safest place in the entire UK, and it is unlikely that there will be dark wizards nearby.
When Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts, he would occasionally come to this dirty bar. His brother Aberforth was often reluctant to sell him alcohol, and even if he did, he would often charge him at a price that did not match the price. Aberforth wanted to charge him a few galleons for two silver Sickles and a glass of butterbeer, but Dumbledore didn't care and let him ask for the price.
Maybe guilt and redemption.
But in fact, wouldn't Aberforth feel guilty? Doesn't he have a little responsibility, doesn't he realize his own problems.
He was also afraid that if he got the truth, he would no longer be able to continue to hate and hate his brother with peace of mind.
But in the bottom of his heart, he suffered no more than Dumbledore.
As long as the truth is unknown, he will still be the third executioner.
Even if you know, so what? Their poor sister, too, left them forever.
The separation between life and death is the most helpless thing in this world.
Walking into the bar, the three of them randomly found a seat by the window and sat down.
"Have something to drink, I'm treating you today."
Ron volunteered, standing up from his seat.
"Three butterbeers, right?" Ron asked, and after receiving the reply, he went to order.
He turned sideways and slowly squeezed from the crowded wooden tables to the bar.
There was an old man in a sackcloth, which Ron guessed was the owner of the bar.
The owner of the bar has wire-gray hair, a long beard, and a pair of glasses that are always dirty.
The pair of blue eyes hidden behind the lens are bright and sharp.
It's too similar to Dumbledore, except that he is slovenly and doesn't pay attention, so he still can't tell.
He was just pretending to wipe a polished plate, while observing the three students.
Now he put the plate down, and unabashedly looked at the boy who came to the counter.
"Three butterbeers," said Ron, as he was about to take money out of his pocket and hand it to the shopkeeper.
His hands froze.
"Three cups cost twelve silver Sickles. You don't have enough money." The shopkeeper glanced at the silver coins in Ron's hand, shook his head, and turned to do other things.
"The butter beer in other bars is two silver Sickles!" Ron said angrily, blushing.
He slapped the six silver coins in his hand on the table.
"Then go to the bar you like, don't come to me, I didn't ask you to come, drink as much as you like, and leave if you don't drink." The owner said gruffly, looking a little impatient .
"You are robbing."
"I'm happy." The shopkeeper said meaninglessly.
"Okay, Ron, stop arguing." Hermione looked at Ron as if he was going to have a conflict with the shopkeeper.
Immediately rushed over.
"Sorry." She handed over the remaining six silver coins on the table.
"We have no time to waste, we are here to do business." She lowered her voice and said to Ron.
"Come on," said Hermione, and returned to their seats with Ron.
After a while, the waiter brought their drinks.
It's different from the butter beer in the Three Broomsticks bar, which is yellow and bubbling, and looks appetizing.
The surface is dusty with a layer of foam that I don't know what it is, and the aroma is also lacking a lot
Ron took a sip, then coughed violently a few times.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "It's really bad."
"Okay, stop talking, we're not here to drink today."
"We've been noticed by Professor McGonagall."
"Harry, it might not be a wise decision for you to go to her in the first place..."
…
"Then what should we do? Should we just watch like this?" Ron said angrily.
"Professor McGonagall doesn't believe us now," he went on.
"I'm going to the Ministry of Magic that day." Harry clenched his fists.
"That's too dangerous!" Hermione wanted to scream, but restrained herself, and whispered.
She clutched her chest and took a few deep breaths.
"Then Professor Dumbledore's situation will only be more dangerous!" Harry said fiercely,
"You also said that Grindelwald is a dark wizard no less than Voldemort." Harry panted heavily.
…
Christmas is supposed to be a time of fun.
But they are not happy, they are worried about the future, and they are discussing the future countermeasures.
Especially Harry, the dream that appeared in his head was too disturbing, and he couldn't relax even for a moment.