HP Approaches the Magic World

The episode ended very briefly.

Jon couldn't figure out why the old man suddenly came here to look for him, but now that the matter had arisen, it would be solved.

Things of this level have not troubled him recently.

Returning to his manor, Jon first went to the study to say hello to Helga, and then returned to the bedroom to take a shower and prepare for bed.

Of course people can't sleep if they go to bed so early.

Jon pulled the air and pulled out a light screen from the air, intending to watch the live broadcast of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

This bad habit was transmitted to him by Cinnabar.

The scene in the picture happened to be midnight.

Hermione huddled at the entrance of the tent, reading "History of Magic" by the light of her wand.

The heavy snow was still falling, and Harry came out of the tent and suggested to Hermione that they change places.

"We need to find a more secluded place."

Hermione naturally agreed very much with Harry's suggestion. As she spoke, she shivered and added a sweatshirt to her pajamas: "I always feel like I heard someone walking around outside, and once or twice I even saw a figure."

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

"I believe it's an illusion,"

Hermione looked a little nervous: "Snow in the dark can easily cause illusions to people's eyes...

But maybe we should Apparate under the cloak, just in case, right?"

Half an hour later, the tent was packed, Harry took the Horcrux, and Hermione grabbed the beaded bag and disapparated together.

A familiar feeling of suffocation engulfed them. Harry's feet left the snow and landed heavily on the ground, like a piece of frozen soil covered with fallen leaves.

"Where are we?"

He looked at this unfamiliar forest.

Hermione had already opened the beaded packet and started pulling out the tent poles.

"The Forest of Dean," she said, "I camped here once, with my parents."

It's quite cold here, and the woods are covered in snow, but at least they can keep out the wind.

They spent most of their time hiding in the tent, huddled around the bright blue fires that Hermione was so good at creating.

These flames are so useful that they can be scooped up and carried around in bottles.

Harry felt like he was recovering from a brief but serious illness, a feeling reinforced by Hermione's caring presence.

In the afternoon, snowflakes began to drift in the sky again, and even the sheltered open 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 narrow escape from death in Godric's Hollow was so thrilling. Voldemort seemed closer than before and the threat was greater.

As night fell again, Harry refused to let Hermione stand guard and told her to go to bed.

Harry moved an old mat and sat at the entrance of the tent, wearing all his sweaters and 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 dots for a while, then he remembered that today was Christmas and she should be at the Burrow.

In the big forest, every slight 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 slinking with other sounds that signaled 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.

The protective magic has been working for so many weeks, how could it not work now?

However, he couldn't shake off a feeling: there seemed to be something unusual tonight.

Harry sat up suddenly several times, his neck stiff and painful because he had fallen asleep leaning against the tent wall unknowingly.

The night was darker, a velvety black, and he seemed to be suspended in the realm between Apparition and Apparition.

When he was about to raise one hand in front of him to see if he could see the five fingers, something strange happened.

A bright silver light appeared directly in front of him, walking through the trees.

He didn't know what the source of the light was, but it moved silently, and the silver light seemed to be floating towards him.

He jumped up and raised Hermione's wand, his voice frozen in his throat.

He squinted his eyes, because the silver light was already very dazzling, and the trees in front turned into dark silhouettes, and the thing was still approaching...

Then the light source floated out from behind an oak tree. It was a silver-white deer, as bright as the moonlight. It gracefully stepped on the ground, still silently, leaving no hoofprints on the soft white snow.

It walked towards him, holding its beautiful head high, with big eyes and long eyelashes.

Harry stared at this spiritual object, filled with surprise, not because of its strangeness, but because of its inexplicable familiarity and intimacy.

He felt like he had been waiting for it, had simply forgotten about it, and now remembered their date.

His urge to call Hermione was so strong just now, but now it suddenly disappeared.

He knew, and could bet his life that it came to him, specifically to him.

They looked at each other for a long time, then it turned and left.

"No."

He said, his voice hoarse from being unused for a long time: "Come back!"

The doe continued to walk leisurely through the woods, and soon its bright body was marked with thick black tree trunk stripes.

For a nervous, shuddering second, Harry hesitated, warning bells ringing softly: it might be a trick, a decoy.

But instinct, irresistible instinct, told him that this was not black magic.

He gave chase.

The snow crunched beneath Harry's feet, but the doe moved silently through the forest, for it was only light.

It led him deeper and deeper into the forest. Harry walked very quickly, trusting that when the deer stopped, it would let him get closer to it, and then it would speak, and the voice would tell him what he needed to know.

s things.

Finally, the doe stopped and turned its beautiful head towards Harry again.

Harry hurried over, a question burning in his heart, but just as he opened his mouth to ask, it disappeared.

Although the darkness had swallowed it whole, its bright image was still imprinted on his retinas, blurring his vision.

When he lowered his eyes, the image became brighter, making it difficult for him to discern the direction.

Now, fear seized him: its presence meant safety.

"Lumos flash!"

The image of the doe gradually disappeared with every blink of Harry's eyes.

He stood there, listening to the various sounds in the forest, the snapping of branches in the distance, the soft rustle of the night snow.

Will he be attacked?

Could it lead him into an ambush?

It seemed like someone was watching him from a place beyond the reach of the wand. Was it his imagination?

Harry raised his wand higher. No one rushed towards him, and no green light came out from behind the tree.

Then why did the deer bring him here?

Something flashed in the wand's fluorescent light, and Harry turned around suddenly. It turned out to be just a small frozen pond.

He raised his wand and looked closely, the cracked black surface sparkling.

He carefully stepped forward and looked down, his deformed shadow and the light of his wand reflected on the ice.

But there is something shining under the thick, hazy gray ice cap, a big silver cross...

His heart jumped to his throat: he ran down to the edge of the pond and tilted his wand so that the light would reach the bottom of the pond as much as possible.

A flash of deep red light...

It's a sword with a gleaming ruby ​​on the handle...

Gryffindor's sword lies at the bottom of a pool in the forest.