A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts-Chapter 603: A Place of Settlement - (1)

Chapter 603: A Place of Settlement

In the office of the Potion Master, Harry gasped as he woke up, breathing greedily like a drowning person.

The surroundings were blurry, and Harry seemed to see a hooked-nose figure. But when Hermione helped him adjust his glasses, Snape stood not too far away. Before he could read the expression on Snape's face, Ron and Hermione rushed forward, hugging him tightly, making it hard for him to breathe.

"I'm - cough - fine," Harry struggled, trying not to be suffocated by the two. He spoke unclearly.

"Mate, you nearly scared us to death," Ron patted his shoulder, while Hermione sobbed quietly, covering her mouth.

"I'm fine," Harry repeated. He looked at the anxious duo, and in a short moment, all emotions came rushing back. He said emotionlessly, "The duel is over."

"How did it end? Did Dumbledore win? Did we win?" Ron asked loudly, and Hermione, standing beside him, looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry didn't know how to answer. He had witnessed Dumbledore turning the tide, but he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'we.' "Yes, Dumbledore won. The war— the war is over."

"That's great!" Ron exclaimed, shaking Harry excitedly. "Fantastic!" Hermione's eyes, filled with tears, flowed freely, her voice choked.

"Potter," Snape asked with a hoarse voice.

"Dumbledore is still alive. Professor Snape, you made it through, and he mentioned Cleghorn—I don't know why; no one told me. And Voldemort, he got swallowed by a snake, maybe not dead yet," Harry said in one breath, looking away, "Sorry, my mind is a bit chaotic right now. I need to go out, get some air..."

He broke free from Ron's grasp and rushed out of the office.

Harry briskly walked through the underground corridor, expressionless, climbed the stairs, and in the entrance hall, excited fifth-year students stood in groups. Some members of magical clubs and the front-line lookout station greeted Harry. He stiffly nodded in response, and some unfamiliar students whispered in the shadows, probably discussing his 'nightmare' in the final exam.

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"What did he dream about to wish Dumbledore dead..."

The whispers reached his ears, but Harry had no intention of defending himself. He walked straight through the hall, still able to hear Neville vehemently arguing on his behalf. He quickened his pace, crossed the oak doors, and the sun set on the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, casting a golden-red edge along its winding lines.

He stepped on the stone steps aimlessly, thinking of going somewhere but not knowing where. Away from others would be better. He first went to the Black Lake, but it was occupied by fifth and seventh-year students who had finished their exams. So, he changed direction, lingered briefly in front of Hagrid's hut, didn't go forward to knock, and turned into the Forbidden Forest.

As his figure was covered by the dark and dense forest shadows, he felt a sense of relief.

No one would be here. He walked deeper, and the tall, dense trees blocked the faint light of dusk. He lay on a dark, smooth rock, his eyes staring at the scattered lights through the thick leaves. It was then that Harry began to seriously contemplate. He temporarily pushed Snape aside in his mind. He finally understood his mission; his purpose was to willingly sacrifice himself at the right moment, severing Voldemort's last connection in the world.

There was a prophecy. Harry pondered; it probably predicted him and Voldemort, and he could guess the content. It might say that both would die together, or, in a more euphemistic way, they would depart together. He couldn't help but think of Snape, the one who revealed it, the one who told Voldemort the prophecy. Back then, he was an evil Death Eater, probably passionately kissing Voldemort's robes every time they met...

At that time, he must have been proud and satisfied, unable to imagine that this prophecy would lead to the death of his beloved.

The whole thing was much more complicated than Harry had initially thought. The thought of death made his heart beat fast, his stomach involuntarily convulsed, as if a block of ice had been stuffed inside. His mouth went dry, and his throat felt tight. Harry knew that fear had enveloped him. What does death feel like? He had narrowly escaped death many times, often thinking he was about to die, but death never accepted him.

He was agile, and luck favored him strangely. It seemed that invisible hands were manipulating his fate (Harry thought of Dumbledore flipping through the book scene), telling him that it wasn't time yet...

But now it was time.

Harry suddenly had the urge to turn and run. He was in the Forbidden Forest; he could use the Invisibility Cloak, then destroy his wand and hide somewhere no one knew. He took out his wand, looked down at it. Time passed slowly, the Forbidden Forest grew darker, as if it had entered the night. Harry became more anxious, urging himself to make a decision, at least... at least, make another visit to Godric's Hollow, bring flowers to his parents' graves or something.

Otherwise, when he returned—Harry thought pessimistically—Dumbledore might grab him, sneeringly telling him to go somewhere with him, accompanying Voldemort. He imagined the scene, the headmaster grabbing his shoulders, shaking him vigorously (somehow, he thought of Ron shaking him), Professor Snape and Professor Hagrid flanking him (they played the roles of assistants, a bit like Crabbe and Goyle)...

But in the end, Harry did nothing. He was like a student who suddenly decided to indulge himself after the exam, sneaking into the Forbidden Forest for an adventure, fundamentally no different from those students resting under the willow tree by the Black Lake. He slowly got off the rock, his legs a bit weak. He looked down at the phoenix feather holly wand still in his hand, seriously considering whom to leave it to as a memento.

But who would use a second-hand wand? Maybe not necessarily, Harry argued in his mind, at least as a spare wand, it should be fine.

It was an excellent wand.

Harry was confident in using it to confront Voldemort head-on; perhaps, that would be better, to die in resistance... But Voldemort had already been captured, Dumbledore and Professor Hagrid had done everything, and his capabilities were quite limited.

He thought of Ron and Hermione, wondering what they would think if they knew. They might try to stop him. Harry could guess their reactions—initial shock, then Ron muttering, "There must be another way." Hermione reciting every book related to this matter. Well, if they had the chance to know.

Harry slowly walked towards the castle, firmly deciding—if there was time—he would ask every ghost in the castle about their feelings at the moment of death. At least, he knew about two of them: Myrtle, killed by the basilisk, and Nearly Headless Nick, who had his head almost chopped off by a rusty axe. Their pain before death was incomparable, like two extremes.

"Swoosh!"

Harry suddenly lowered his head, and the Iron Armor Hex formed a barrier in front of him. He stared dumbfounded at the arrow that was a distance away, stuck in the ground,

its tail shaking wildly. It seemed to serve as a warning, and then the forest swayed. Harry squinted, hearing the clattering of hooves.

"Bane, it seems to be a student."

"A foal?" a rough voice called out.

A centaur emerged from behind the bushes, with platinum hair and a body like a silver-maned horse. Harry knew this centaur; his name was Firenze. Firenze looked Harry up and down, somewhat surprised. "Harry Potter?"

Another centaur appeared, with black hair and a black body, looking stronger and rougher than Firenze. He held a bow in his hand, and apparently, the arrow stuck in the ground was his shot.

"Foal, leave this place," the black centaur said gruffly. "Centaur is not your human nanny. Don't expect us to follow you like donkeys to provide protection."

Harry remained silent, still angry about the arrow. Somehow, he suddenly wanted to teach this seemingly unruly centaur a lesson, probably influenced by Hagrid's recent complaints. "Those close-minded horses... I'm not saying all of them, a few are quite easy to talk to, but most..." he muttered disdainfully, pushing a bone needle into thick canvas, sewing up Grawp's trousers.

Or maybe it was just the centaurs disturbing his thoughts.

Harry walked back without saying a word. At this moment, the sound of hooves came from behind, and one of them caught up with him. Harry didn't turn around; he wasn't interested in the other's purpose. But the one called 'Bane' shouted, "Remember, Firenze! I can ignore you making friends with that little girl, but don't say what shouldn't be said! We vowed not to get involved in the messy troubles of wizards!"

"I didn't plan to," the voice seemed to come from above Harry's head, making his ears itchy. Firenze shouted, "But now I do want to say something!"

Bane angrily shouted—Harry felt somewhat relieved—but after they walked a distance, he began to worry about Firenze's situation. According to Hagrid, centaurs were quite stubborn and irritable.

"That—um—that little girl refers to Luna, right?" Harry found a topic as they silently navigated through the forest.

"Correct," Firenze replied briefly, walking side by side with him.

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