The days of hanging out at Hogwarts

The well-known wand-making master Grigovitch is just an old scholar with thinning gray hair and an lingering smell of tung oil hanging on his body. He was originally bent from working at his desk for a long time. The spine in my lower back made an overwhelming clicking sound.

With his cheeks flushed, Gregorovitch struggled to squeeze out a bit of strength from his body, and raised his head to look at the fierce and vicious British witch in front of him: "Please, I am willing to hand over my memory. You will understand after you see it." Already..."

Bellatrix glanced contemptuously at the struggling old man and covered her nose in disgust.

The world-famous wand craftsman swayed slightly in mid-air, his plump body secreting a lot of cold sweat out of fear, dripping from the top of his head along the hanging body. The smell of sweat mixed with tung oil filled the air, making people sick.

"Memory? I will take a closer look..."

Bellatrix smiled and waved her wand, "[Crushing Bones]"

The ominous bloody light penetrated the old craftsman's body, and Gregorovich groaned. The next moment, his screams and wailing were blocked in his mouth and throat, and the intense pain made him unable to scream.

The magic of the Cruciatus Curse spread to every inch of the body. The muscles suddenly tightened, the muscles and bones twisted and spasmed, the blood vessels squirmed like snakes and worms, and every pore seemed to be driven into iron nails. Someone was beating with a giant hammer, intense The pain caused every bone and every joint to become self-conscious, to break away from the wrapping of skin and muscles, tear the body apart, and escape from the endless pain.

Grigovitch squeezed out a hoarse hoarse sound from his throat:

"Spare me...spare me...please spare me..."

"Please...I didn't..."

"I really didn't..."

I don't know how long it took, but the old craftsman slumped down weakly. His pupils were cloudy and unfocused, as if he could no longer see the things in front of him. His nostrils and mouth were slightly opened, and he managed to squeeze out the stagnant breath from his trachea, but he had no energy left to complete the inhalation. His angry movements made him look like he was about to die.

Bellatrix took a few steps forward, stretched out her metal hands and pinched the old man's neck, like a suffocating fat fish, her silver fingers exerted slight force, and a cruel smile appeared on her lips: "Now, Let me see your memory..."

Accompanied by the sound of hard breathing, the old craftsman was pulled by his neck and raised his head slightly. His cloudy eyes seemed to be fixed by some force. He looked straight ahead, his pupils gradually expanded, like two black holes, connected. Deep in the long memory...

In the dim attic corridor, a series of hurried footsteps sounded, and Grigovitch walked quickly into the picture holding a lantern. At that time, he was still a young craftsman, short and fat but powerful, and agile in movement.

All the way to the room with a workshop at the end of the corridor, when he heard the noise in the room, Grigovitch's expression changed drastically and he opened the door angrily.

The lights in the workroom were bright, with sawdust and gold powder twinkling in the swaying light circle. Perched on the window was a blond boy with a handsome face and a posture like an elegant bird.

The moment he met Grigovitch's angry gaze, the handsome face was filled with joy, and then the uninvited guest shot a stun spell with his wand and jumped out of the window, leaving behind a series of loud laughter.

"Who is the thief, Grigovitch?" Bellatrix looked gloomy. When she thought about having to bring this memory back to the Dark Lord, her eyes could not suppress the murderous intent.

"I don't know, I never knew, a young man..."

"[Heart-cutting out the bones]"

The shrill moan sounded again and lasted for a long time.

…

12 Grimmauld Place, basement kitchen.

A bright and hot golden flame was suspended above the long table, and the bright light fell on every corner of the dim room. The gleaming light of the quietly burning flame was warm and soft, and did not require external magic to maintain or fuel supply.

Hermione stood next to the long table, her beautiful eyes were shining brightly, and she whispered softly:

"The Immortal Fire of Gubulai...the eternal burning flame..."

"Is this... a birthday gift for me?" Loren looked at the golden flames that were burning quietly in the air, with a hint of surprise in his eyes.

It's not as fierce and violent as Li Huo, nor is it as weak as the bluebell flame.

The golden flame seems to be a living magical creature, and the magic power contained inside flows according to a special route, just like the magic power in wizards and magical animals, which is endless and continuous.

"I'm so sorry, Loren, that your birthday present is just now, almost two weeks late."

Dumbledore scratched his hair in distress and sighed, "Because it is difficult to deliver, I once thought about using an owl to deliver it, but the postmen all refused this job..."

"..."

Loren and Hermione ignored his muttered cold joke, and both of them got closer to observe the eternal fire, which was said to never be extinguished. Breathing on it, the flames floated and jumped, and the gentle swaying gesture was like a tree branch blown by the wind.

Her clear eyes reflected the gently swaying flames, and many strange thoughts suddenly appeared in Hermione's little head:

If the bluebell flame is released in this shape, it seems to be more effortless...

When releasing the fire spell, the trajectory of the tip of the stick can also be adjusted...

Loren looked thoughtfully at the way Gubulai's fairy fire burned steadily, and he also had many thoughts about the flame in his mind:

While manipulating the sharp fire to transform, use a similar method to build a magic circle inside the flame. The sharp fire should be able to burn more vigorously and last longer... The flame defense that progresses slowly seems to be able to learn from Gubulai's fairy fire for improvement...

Looking at the shining eyes of the two children, Dumbledore said with a smile: "The Gubler Fairy Fire is not as precious as you think. It is just a lost magic. Ancient wizards often used it to maintain long-term lighting and replace torches. Or put it on the fireplace or on the stove. Many houses and tombs have traces of its burning."

"Huh?" Hermione raised her head and asked with some confusion, "Since it is a commonly used magic, why was the Gubler Fairy Fire lost later?"

"Because accidents happen to wizards who use it on a daily basis."

"Curse?" Hermione blinked.

"It must be a fire."

Loren's expression was subtle, and he explained to the little witch beside him, "The Fairy Fire of Gubula will never go out. Over the years, over a period of more than ten years, there will always be an accident caused by a certain wizard who neglects to take precautions. It becomes a fire, coupled with its never-extinguishing properties..."

"..."

Hermione was lost in thought.

"The Gubler Fairy Fire is gentle and stable. Maintaining the same state for decades will make wizards relax their vigilance. Waiting for them to wake up, the fire can no longer be stopped." Dumbledore nodded, "But you don't have to use it. For daily heating and lighting, just use ordinary candlesticks to store them separately.”

Loren thought for a moment and planned how to store the flames in his heart. Then he looked up at Dumbledore and asked, "Principal, you said in your letter that you need my help with something. What is it?"

"I need you to pick up Hagrid for me..."