"Is that Weasley? What's he doing?" The two walked on the hillside, and Draco looked at a figure who seemed to be doing something unknown. The person looked about their age, with characteristic red hair.
It was clearly Ron Weasley of Gryffindor.
He looked very unwell at this moment, dazed and disoriented.
"I don't know," Harry glanced at him, not paying much attention. His impression of Ron, apart from daily classes, was only that incident on Halloween last year.
Compared to that, what he needed to care about more was Ancient Runes.
Since he chose to join the team for his interest in flying, he should naturally pay for it with more diligent study during weekdays.
And Ancient Runes was his current learning goal.
At this moment, the sun was setting, the sky a blend of orange and purple. The Forbidden Forest was eternally dark as ink. A few birds flew from the treetops, seemingly wanting to paint a picture against that orange backdrop.
They succeeded.
At least for Sindel, they succeeded very well.
In her eyes, the window frame was a picture frame, and the scenes outside were moving magic paintings that heaven and earth presented to her.
Howl stood up, picked up a newly written notice for the Duelling Club, looked at it carefully twice, and after confirming there were no problems, turned his head: "Sindel!"
"Sindel?"
"I'm here!" The girl suddenly reacted, a hint of embarrassment in her smile, "Is there something?"
Howl looked at her expression, smiled and shook his head: "No, I won't bother you anymore. Oh, by the way, are you not planning to go for tea parties with the Fat Ladies this weekend?"
"No," Sindel shook her head: "I don't feel like it's very interesting."
As she spoke, her gaze focused on the window again, as if the twinkling stars in the orange-purple sky and the swaying tree canopy in the distance were much more interesting than the Fat Lady's tea party.
Howl had heard that tea parties with the Fat Lady were what the magic paintings most wanted to participate in, after all, she had the most gossip in her head, and this was the best seasoning for the boring lives of the people in the paintings.
"Alright," Howl nodded, raised his hand, and a silvery-white mist inexplicably emanated from it.
Gently, a large cat with thick, long fur jumped out, its tail held high, looking like a feather duster.
It rubbed against Howl's hand, then picked up the parchment from his hand and leaped out of the window.
Sindel looked at the agile figure of the big cat with soft eyes, then her gaze unconsciously shifted to Howl's head.
They're exactly alike...
Howl didn't pay attention to Sindel's gaze. After bidding her farewell, he left the office. Most of the Little Wizards were gathered in the Great Hall, having dinner at this time.
He was just passing by, but he saw that today's dinner seemed to be French cuisine, and a fish soup looked good...
Night, with a bright moon and sparse stars.
On the second floor of the Pigs Head Bar, Aberforth held the dying Nagini and placed her into a huge, tightly interwoven cage.
Inside the cage, there were soft cushions, comfortable shelters, and... a recently cleaned floor, still retaining the smell of excrement.
"Before long, besides the smell of sheep, you'll have another smell on you."
Aberforth didn't answer him, only looking at Nagini in the cage with a complex expression, then turning his head to look at a spire on the hillside outside.
Howl picked up a photograph. The frame was already broken, and judging by the glass cut, it had happened recently, likely done by Nagini.
In the photo was Aberforth, dressed impeccably, and beside him was a man with high cheekbones, a somewhat gaunt, square face, and deep-set eyes, looking very weak.
Because of the movable photo, Howl could see his swaying body and twitching corners of his mouth.
He was just trying his best to maintain his smile in front of the camera.
He was dying.
"These days, he only smiled when he saw me.
He knew he was going to die, and Nagini had disappeared into the vast sea of people.
The day after this photo was taken, he went to a Muggle newspaper office, attempting to use Muggle newspapers to publish a missing person's notice.
Unfortunately, because the photo moved, it scared many Muggles and even attracted the Ministry of Magic... causing a huge mess."
Speaking of this, the old man's face actually showed a smile, as if he thought this was a beautiful moment worth savoring.
Downstairs, Howl sat at the bar.
"I'm sorry, I really couldn't help it," Aberforth stared into Howl's eyes: "May I ask... how long will it take for her to recover?"
"If it's fast, perhaps May, but for a good omen, I'll try my best to do it before Easter!" Howl took the beer Aberforth handed him.
"Thank you," Aberforth said again. The thanks he had said these days were perhaps more than he had said in his entire century of life.
Howl shook his head, not paying much attention.
When you promise something, just try your best to do it well, that's all...
As he spoke, he took a sip of beer.
A sour, foul smell rushed to his tongue, almost making him spit it out. He looked at Aberforth helplessly.
If it were anyone else, Aberforth would have instinctively said, 'Drink it or get lost,' or even thrown a bottle at them.
But...
"You should get some normal alcohol," Howl said helplessly, walking into the bar, looking at the drinks, then picking out what he needed. He also took two yellowed glass cups and forcibly cleaned them.
Half a glass of whiskey, a small glass of vodka.
Half a lemon, there wasn't one here, so he Transfigured one. Anyway, it wouldn't kill anyone.
Finally, two teaspoons of bitters each.
"I can't imagine what it tastes like. What's this drink called?"
"Me."
"Me?"
Howl raised his glass and took a sip: "My name, not me, nor you."
"Looks like you like sour and bitter," Aberforth also picked up a glass and took a sip.
It was very sour and bitter on the palate, as if needles were pricking his tongue, bitter enough... to make him temporarily forget the chaotic thoughts he had just had.
He put down the glass, bitterness and a smile intertwined on his face.
"Oh, it's quite good, bitter... is also quite good," he said.
"No, don't look at me like that. It's because my life is too sweet, sweet to the point of being boring," Howl bluntly interrupted Aberforth's thoughts.
"Borgin gave me a bottle of Felix Felicis two years ago, and I've forgotten which corner I threw it into now.
Otherwise, why do you think I'd come to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?!"
As he spoke, his gaze fell on the doorway. A familiar figure pushed open the grate, ragged and smelling, dragging his feet weakly as he walked in.
"Mundungus, I heard you've been missing for a long time," a bandaged patron said...
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