Hogwarts, a Scholar Becomes a God

"Obstacles!" shouted Harry. "Obstacles! Obstacles—"

However, in his perception, the classroom and the dementors disappeared...

Harry fell into the thick white fog again, his mother's voice louder than ever, echoing in his mind -

"Don't touch Harry! Don't touch Harry! Please - whatever you want me to do -"

"Get out of the way—get out of the way, stupid woman—"

"Harry!"

A loud sound like thunder exploded in his heart, and Harry woke up suddenly.

He lay on his back on the mat on the floor. The lights in the classroom came on again. Without asking, he knew what had just happened.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "I...I just..."

He sat up, feeling cold sweat flowing down behind his glasses.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked.

"It's okay..." Harry stood up holding a chair, then leaned on the chair, "Am I so useless?"

"Here-" Clark handed him a chocolate frog, "eat it and let's try again."

"I didn't expect you to succeed in one go. There is still a long distance between understanding the principles and putting them into practice. This is exactly the meaning of our training.

Just like Neville, he was able to survive countless injuries without even blinking when a sharp blade touched his body.

So honestly, I would be really shocked if you succeeded. "

Harry nodded and bit off the chocolate frog's head.

After he finished eating and stood up, Clark waved his hand, and the "dementor" slipped out of the cabinet again.

The classroom once again became bitterly cold, and the lights around him flickered. Harry tried to remind himself in his heart, I am not afraid of my mother's voice, I want to resurrect her.

This time, the situation seemed to have changed. A clear desire supported him, allowing him to watch the dementors approaching him little by little.

"Obstacles!" Harry shouted. "Obstacles! Obstacles..."

Nothing happened. As the dementors approached, the white mist once again enveloped his consciousness. He felt that there were some tall and vague figures moving around him...

Harry heard, in addition to his mother's voice, a new voice, a man's voice, shouting nervously——

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him back..."

Someone stumbled out of the room - a door flew open - followed by a burst of piercing laughter -

"Harry! Harry... wake up..."

Clark gently patted Harry's cheek. This time, it took Harry more than a minute to figure out why he was lying on the soft floor mat.

"I heard my father's voice,

"Harry murmured, "This is the first time I heard his voice - he wanted to contain Voldemort by himself, so that my mother and I could have time to escape..."

Harry suddenly realized that there was sweat and tears on his face.

In order not to let Clark see, he pretended to tie his shoes, buried his face as low as possible, and wiped his tears on his robe.

"Your father's voice?" Clark asked.

"Yeah..." Harry wiped his face and raised his head, "It seems that I also want to resurrect my father."

Clark stared at his face and said, "You don't look good, Harry. I can totally understand if you don't want to continue."

"No! I want to continue." He stood up again, looked at Clark and said, "Let's try again. I feel much better. Believe me, it will work this time."

"Okay then..." Clark said.

"Perhaps you may need to choose another person you hate, I mean an object that is more disgusting than you just imagined, and focus your mental energy on it... The one just now seems not strong enough..."

Another more annoying person?

Harry didn't have to search his guts or rack his brains. A thin, sallow-skinned, hook-nosed old man with greasy hair quickly appeared in his mind.

Who else could be more annoying than Snape?

Harry took a deep breath, feeling that he would succeed this time.

He regained his footing and faced the wooden cabinet again.

"Ready?" Clark asked, "Concentrated? OK - let's go!"

He opened the cabinet door for the third time, and the dementor emerged from inside. The classroom was cold and dark——

"Obstacles!" shouted Harry. "Obstacles! Odds!"

The screams in Harry's mind reappeared - but he had long been mentally prepared, and even these voices seemed particularly kind to him - if I resurrected them, they would be able to use this method every day. This voice is talking to me!

He thought to himself that the screams seemed to come from a mistuned radio.

Suddenly high, sometimes low, sometimes far, sometimes close... He could still see the Dementor... The monster had stopped, as if there was an invisible wall between him and the Dementor.

Although Harry's legs were weak, he still stood there... He took another step forward, a little closer to his goal.

"Well done, Harry!" Clark took a step forward, stood in front of Harry, and forced the Boggart back into the wooden cabinet.

Harry fell into his chair, feeling exhausted, as if he had just run a mile. His legs could not stop shaking, but there was still a trace of joy in the corners of his eyes.

"Not bad!" Clark said, striding up to Harry and patting him on the shoulder, "Excellent, Harry! Things are finally getting better!"

"Can we try it again? Just once?" Harry asked.

"Not now," Clark glanced vaguely at the statue in the corner of the classroom and said firmly, "It's enough to practice this much in one night, give-"

He handed Harry a large piece of Honeydukes' finest lava center chocolate.

"Eat it and go back to sleep. It will be the same time next week."

"Okay." Harry said, took a bite of chocolate, and left the classroom obediently.

Clark walked to the statue in the corner, touched the pearl on it, and moved it to a place where it could shine into the moonlight. Then he turned off the lights, cleaned up the scene, and returned to Gryffindor's tower.

In the days that followed, in addition to intensifying his Quidditch training, Harry also had to spend one night a week to receive training from Clark.

January turned into February unknowingly, and the biting cold weather conditions did not ease at all. The game between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw was approaching day by day.

The bad news is, Harry still hasn't ordered a new broomstick.

Now, every time after taking Transfiguration class, he would ask Professor McGonagall for news about the Firebolt.

Whenever this happens, Ron will stand behind him with hope, and then perform a stunt of changing his face.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but you can't take it back just yet."

On the twelfth time, before Harry could open his mouth, Professor McGonagall saw him and spoke first.

"We tested most of the commonly used jinxes, and although nothing was found, Professor Flitwick still believes that there may be a throwing charm on the broomstick.

When we finish testing, I will tell you immediately, but please stop pestering me now. "

Compared to his frustration with the Firebolt, Harry's training session against dementors went extremely smoothly.

After a few lessons, although the dementor the boggart turned into still brought him a chilling meaning, he no longer fainted.

Not only that, every time the "Dementor" came towards him, he could create an invisible wall of air to block the "Dementor", preventing him from moving forward.

Because of this, Harry even suspected that he was actually a top student like Hermione, but only in the use of magic.

He completely forgot about Clark's guidance and inspiration to him during his training.

"Hey Clark, I think I can take it a step further."

In the training session on the fourth week, Harry said very proudly after once again successfully blocking the dementor that the Boggart turned into.

"It's not enough to stop them with light. It's best to drive away the dementors, or even destroy them like Neville did."

Clark sat on the chair and glanced at him after hearing this.

"You have too high expectations for yourself. For a thirteen-year-old wizard, being able to cast an obstacle spell in front of a dementor is already an amazing achievement.

You don't faint now, do you? "

Harry nodded, "The screams are no longer harsh, but -"

“But this is just an impostor turned into a boggart, and the impact it has on you is only one-fifth or sixth of what a real dementor would do.

You have to lay a good foundation before you can move forward.

Now you just need to practice so that if the Dementors appear again in the next game, you can temporarily control them and then let yourself land smoothly. "

"You said they would be harder to deal with if there were a lot of them," Harry said.

"Actually, you don't have to worry about this at all," Clark said with a smile. "This is Hogwarts. After Dumbledore's warning, there may be one or two dementors who can't resist the temptation and break in. But it's absolutely impossible for them to appear together on the Quidditch field."

"Okay, don't worry if you don't have any of these anymore. When I'm sure you can do it, I will teach you harmful skills."

Clark said, taking out two glass bottles from the cabinet on the other side of the classroom, "You won yourself a little drink. This thing is not common in the wizarding world-"

"Coke!" Harry looked at the glass bottle with the classic red pattern and the black liquid in the bottle, and said without thinking, "It's great, I like this thing!"

Clark raised an eyebrow, "I almost forgot that you live in a Muggle family."

He opened the bottle cap with two fingers, and then handed the iced Coke with water droplets on the surface to Harry, "Okay - let's wish Gryffindor a victory over Ravenclaw!"

"Hiccup~"

"Hiccup~"

After taking a sip of ice-cold Coke, the pores of the whole person opened instantly, as if all the unpleasantness was taken out of the body with that burp.

Harry drank several sips with satisfaction. Just looking at his size, he knew that he had no share of this stuff when he was at the Dursley's.

"By the way, what's under the Dementor's hood?" After drinking only half of the Coke, Harry suddenly asked a question that had been bothering him for a long time.

Clark put down the glass bottle thoughtfully.

“Well, that’s right, those who really know the truth can’t live to tell us.

After all, dementors only raise their hoods when using their last and most vicious weapons. "

"What is that?" Harry asked curiously.

"People call it the 'Dementor's Kiss.'" Clark said with a sarcastic smile, "It's a joke to use such a beautiful word as 'kiss' to describe the Dementor's final resort. "

"Their kiss can be used against those they want to completely destroy. I guess there must be something like a mouth underneath, because they press their chin on the victim's mouth - sucking out his soul."

Harry accidentally squirted out some coke.

"What—they kill—?"

"No, no, no," Clark waved his hand, "It's much better than that."

"You have to know that for wizards, as long as the brain and heart are still working, you can still live even without a soul.

But in this case, you no longer have a sense of self, you no longer have memories, you no longer have...anything, and there is no chance of recovery.

You just - live monotonously, as an empty body, your soul is lost... gone forever. "

Clark's words made Harry shudder, the punishment of having a human soul sucked from his mouth shocked him.

The two of them didn't say anything else. Harry even regretted asking this question. The answer was too terrifying.

Until he drank the Coke and left the classroom with Clark, he was still thinking about: What would it feel like when a person's soul is sucked away?

The result of this was that when Harry went upstairs, he bumped into Professor McGonagall.

"Look carefully as you walk, Potter!"

"I'm sorry, Professor—"

"I just went to look for you in the Gryffindor common room, and you're still hanging out so late!" Professor McGonagall looked at him angrily, "And you, Clark, you're actually accompanying me He was messing around together.”

"Professor, in fact, I am helping Harry - train how to deal with dementors -" Clark explained quickly.

"Okay," Professor McGonagall's face became slightly better, "I'll give this to you. We have taken all the measures we can think of, and it seems there is no problem - Potter, you are somewhere, say Maybe I really have a very good friend..."

Harry opened his mouth in surprise, because in the hands of Professor McGonagall, his Firebolt looked as exquisite as before.

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