Hermione refused to help me return the Invisibility Cloak to Harry, which made me very annoyed. Even though she tried to explain to me in a tone as if she were explaining addition, subtraction, multiplication and division within ten why she thought this matter should be left for me and Harry to sort out on our own, I still insisted that her help would make things much simpler – just as I believed that it would make things much more complicated if I told Harry that I intended to borrow his Invisibility Cloak to break into the Slytherin common room.
"What does it have to do with whether I believe in him or not?" I wrote a few lines of my Potions essay, still feeling it was incredible. "The point is that I got back the notes on Occlumency, and maybe Neville won't be in so much pain – I never asked to be praised – "
"Iris, Iris." Hermione simply put down her quill. Anyway, she was just reviewing and adding to her notes. The table we were sitting at was in the corner of the library, which allowed us to have a quiet conversation in a low voice with a bit more freedom. She pinched the bridge of her nose and said softly, "I don't think that's the point of the matter."
"I relayed his exact words to you." I then mimicked the last words Harry left before he walked away very vividly. We hadn't met each other since then. "But in my opinion – "
"He couldn't tell you that he was angry because he found you were with Malfoy. For goodness' sake, Iris, that's what he's angry about! You secretly went to the Slytherin boys' dormitory, to someone with whom your relationship is so complicated that it could probably fill five books, to steal a – "
" – to get back a." I corrected her. "It was my thing in the first place."
"Sneakily retrieving a notebook!" Hermione poked me on the head with her index finger. "That's the point, Iris Snape. Don't you think Harry doesn't care at all about what happened between you and Malfoy?"
"Then why didn't he just tell me he was angry about this?" I asked in confusion. "If he had just said it, I would have told him that it was all in the past. I just wanted to get the notebook back to help Neville. And Draco doesn't like me anymore. He said it himself to those Slytherins that there are plenty of good women worthy of him."
"What capacity would he have to tell you that he's angry about this?" Hermione asked me calmly in return. "As a friend? Friends aren't really in a position to interfere in personal matters related to emotions. As a boyfriend? Your relationship doesn't seem to have reached that stage yet. I've told you a long time ago to sort this out. Look at the situation now. You guys just never listen to my advice."
"Then what should I do now?" I buried my face in the parchment that smelled of ink. Now I had replaced Ron as that withered Mimbulus mimbletonia.
"To be honest, I don't know." Hermione shook her head. "Harry... when he gets angry... remember when he had that argument with Ron before? When he was just chosen as a Triwizard Tournament champion?"
"He just stopped talking to Ron." I replied gloomily. "I get it."
Soon we put this matter aside for the time being. On Monday morning, owls descended on the Gryffindor table like a sudden shower. They jostled and scrambled to get in front of Harry and Neville, trying to lift their feet, and excitedly flapped their big wings to beat the sly ones that tried to cut in line. Our milk, oatmeal porridge and bread were all covered with owl feathers. Everyone craned their necks curiously to see what was going on.
"Oh!" Hermione grabbed a long-eared owl that was carrying a cylindrical package. "I think the article has finally been published!"
Harry and Neville opened the package together. Inside was a tightly rolled copy of the March issue of The Quibbler. The cover was no longer the simple drawings of strange plants and animals. Instead, it was a photo of Harry and Neville. Neville looked nervous and shy, and although Harry seemed more relaxed, he was smoothing down the hair that was sticking up on his head with his hand. Above the photo were the exaggerated red words: The Truth Finally Chosen to Be Made Public —— Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter: The Night We Saw the Dark Lord Reborn.
"Dad made several covers." Luna's dreamy voice drifted over as she wandered to our table. "I thought this one was the nicest, so he used it. It looks like these are all letters from readers."
"Can we help you open the letters?" Taurus asked eagerly. "This is so cool!"
"Go ahead." Harry took a dazed sip of the orange juice filled with bits of owl feathers. Neville had already started opening the first letter. "Be careful that someone might put a curse in it — I really hope they don't send letters to my home."
"This guy says he suggests you all go to St. Mungo's for treatment." Ron curled his lip and tossed the letter aside.
"Hey, this person is a bit contradictory. He says he doesn't want to believe it, but he has to admit that what you said makes some sense — what a waste of parchment." Taurus enthusiastically stretched out his arm and scooped up several owls onto his lap at once. "Oh, Harry, here's a girl who says she believes you and hopes you can write back to her —look! She even attached a photo!"
There wasn't just one girl who attached a photo. I looked at the long, enthusiastic letter in my hand that said, "We think you're all real heroes!" On the two photos, twin girls in light summer clothes were giving me charming smiles. On the back of the photos, it was signed in fancy script with "To Harry Potter" and "To Neville Longbottom" respectively. What did they think they were doing?
"What's going on here?" A sweet little girl's voice sounded behind us. "Why are there so many owls?"
"Is it against the law to receive letters now?" Fred raised an eyebrow.
"Watch your attitude, Mr. Weasley." Umbridge smiled sweetly and continued to ask, "Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Potter, explain this."
"People are writing to us," Neville answered calmly. "They read our interview."
"What interview?" Umbridge's voice suddenly became shrill, and the smile on her face disappeared without a trace.
Just some questions, and we gave our answers." Harry threw the copy of The Quibbler in his hand hard at Umbridge's face. There was a burst of stifled cheering from the Gryffindor table.
When Umbridge saw the cover of the magazine, her lips trembled, and an ugly purplish-red color like that of being poisoned spread across her face, which actually matched the bright bow on her head quite well. I noticed that the teachers at the staff table were also looking over here. Umbridge's voice was so shrill that it seemed as if it could pierce the ceiling. She was so furious that she could hardly speak. After a long while, she managed to ask, "When... When did you..."
"During our last trip to Hogsmeade." Neville replied cheerfully.
"You are never allowed to go to Hogsmeade again!" Umbridge looked like a toad that had been hit by a stone, desperately trying to maintain her balance so as not to topple into the water. She took a deep breath. "How dare you... I've been doing my best to teach you to be honest, but since you won't listen — seventy-five points are deducted from Gryffindor, and each of you two will have a week's detention."
"Then we'll continue opening the letters, Professor." Harry said sarcastically.
"No — get out of here! All of you, get out!" Umbridge took out her wand and pointed it at the owls that were still flying in from the window and landing on the Gryffindor table. The attacked owls were frightened and flapped their wings to take off. Soon they understood who was trying to stop them from fulfilling the tasks given by their masters, and they united and flew around Umbridge, pecking at her with their sharp beaks.
"Get out — " Umbridge shrieked, but the teachers at the staff table seemed to be very seriously having their breakfast. Umbridge's hat full of bows was picked up by a snow-white owl. Filch, who was holding a mop, shuffled towards her. When he was trying to drive the owls away, the mop, as if out of control, hit Umbridge's face several times hard.
"You're getting more and more proficient in using the Silencing Charm." Hermione whispered in my ear before the History of Magic class.
"I really want her to experience the pain that Vivian went through at that time." I said to her out of the corner of my mouth. "It's a pity that Filch only brought a mop."
"Can the D.A. teach the Silencing Charm next time?" Taurus looked at me and then at Harry eagerly. "I also want to hit Umbridge with a mop."
"Sure." Harry said simply.
"What's wrong with you two?" Taurus tilted his head. "Did you have a fight?"
"No." Harry and I answered in unison, and then we walked into the History of Magic classroom and started to feel drowsy.
Before noon, huge notices were posted everywhere in the school. Umbridge issued Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven, banning any student from carrying The Quibbler magazine, not even the old ones. However, this move aroused great curiosity among everyone. It seemed that there were whispers discussing that interview in every corner of Hogwarts. During the Arithmancy class, several people looked at me and Hermione with eager eyes, and as soon as the class was over, they surrounded us with questions.
"I still have to go to Ancient Runes class." Hermione looked at the time in a hurry and left me with those classmates whose eyes were shining brightly. It was more of an expression of agreement than asking questions. They excitedly patted the completely blank magazines (to avoid Umbridge's inspection) and said that this could explain the previous large-scale escape of the Death Eaters. Instead, I couldn't get a word in and could only nod when they expressed their admiration, saying that I would convey their feelings for them.
"That's so cool." A Ravenclaw girl nodded. "By the way, I want to ask for my friend — does Potter have a girlfriend now? She has always thought that Potter plays Quidditch very well."
"You'd better ask him about that directly." I replied irritably. "You can bring a photo of your friend for him to consider — anyway, he's already received a stack of them today."
"It's really rare that Trelawney didn't predict Neville's early death today." When we got back to the common room in the evening, Ron said as he was distributing the Sugar Quills that Professor Flitwick had given to Harry and Neville during the class. "Guess what she said about what will happen to Neville in the future?"
"Tell us." Hermione showed great interest.
"She said that Neville is destined to live a long life and have twelve children." Ron laughed heartily. "She must have read that interview too! You really should have seen Umbridge's expression at that time, especially when Trelawney looked into Harry's crystal ball and said that he would become the Minister of Magic in the future — it was amazing."
"Professor Sprout added twenty points to Gryffindor because Neville handed her a watering can." Taurus rubbed his hands expectantly. "I hope Professor McGonagall will also add some points to us tomorrow."
Harry and Neville were the focal points of the Gryffindor common room tonight — although they had always been in the spotlight, it had been a long time since they had been looked at with such eager and trusting eyes. What made us happiest was that Seamus took the initiative to come over and stammered an apology to Neville, saying that he regretted what he had said before and that he had even sent a copy of The Quibbler to his mother. Later, Harry stood up and blocked the classmates who were still eager to know more details for Neville, so that he had the chance to come over and sit with me to look through my father's notes.
"You still dream about those things, don't you?" In fact, I didn't need Neville's answer to know the answer. The smile on his face gradually faded.
"Yes." Neville replied in a nervous whisper, his back ramrod straight.
"No, no, don't act like you're facing my father when you're with me." I wanted to use the knitted cushion to cover my face again to make him relax a bit. "I think you need more confidence. You should believe that you have the ability to control your own mind — um, let me see what's written here — imagine a container that your emotions can't enter, and the memories in your mind are just a kind of substance that you can pour into all kinds of containers."
I could tell that Neville was trying very hard to keep up with what I was saying. An hour later, both of our foreheads were covered with fine beads of sweat. But to be honest, I didn't think it was very effective — because as a teacher, I didn't really understand the deeper meaning of these words either.
"It sounds like restraining your emotions and looking at memories objectively?" Hermione summarized after listening for a while.
"Then it's no different from what Professor Snape said." Neville said dejectedly. "He always says I can't concentrate."
"I think that's what it means by 'being unable to control your own mind'." Hermione said thoughtfully. "I think this is a kind of confrontation. The intruder looks for weaknesses, and the resister needs to be clear about every possible vulnerable spot."
"Or just think of nothing at all and empty your mind." I rubbed my temples. "Of course, then others will immediately know that you're trying to hide something."
"But Professor Snape always asks me to empty my mind before going to bed." Neville said in confusion.
"I think it's because you have to learn how to close the door first." Hermione nodded. "You said that you can only sense it when the Dark Lord is emotional. I think the connection between you two is passive. So you don't need to specifically hide something. You just need to not be disturbed by this connection."
"This is really an interesting and easy - to - understand teaching lecture." Ron clapped his hands beside us, indicating that he didn't understand a word.
"I'll give it a try." It seemed that in order not to let Hermione and me down, Neville forced a smile. "I still have two weeks."
At least his attempt wasn't successful that night. The next day, I heard him telling Harry that he had another nightmare — this time he even dreamed that he was the Dark Lord himself. He mentioned a man named Rookwood. It seemed that the Dark Lord was very satisfied with his report. "I'm thinking that what Neville has seen isn't completely worthless." I couldn't help but say to Hermione during a break.
"I know what you mean." Hermione said after looking around to make sure there was no one around. "But he shouldn't have seen these things. The fact that Dumbledore asked Professor Snape to teach him Occlumency shows that he thinks these dreams... are very dangerous. The most urgent thing is to let Neville cut off this connection, not to think about what they mean."
We spent two whole weeks studying the notes that we had finally retrieved, but Neville couldn't spare as much time as Hermione and I did after dealing with the heavy workload of homework and revision. Two weeks later, before I could ask Neville if he had made any progress in my father's class, the news that Professor Trelawney had been fired spread. We had never seen Professor Trelawney in such a disheveled state — in my short memory of my contact with her, she had always seemed to be wrapped in a hazy, glowing cocoon. But now she looked like an out - and - out madwoman. Her shawl hung in tatters around her arms, and the tassels were even under her feet. She held a wine bottle in one hand and waved her other hand wildly in the air. Her glasses were askew due to her big movements, and her hair was completely in disarray.
"My goodness." Hermione grabbed my arm painfully. It was just the time when dinner had ended, and people kept trying to push forward to see what was happening. We could only see through the tall boys in front that Professor Trelawney was sitting slumped on a suitcase, letting out heartbroken screams. "Umbridge... she really..."
It was hard for me to see where Umbridge was standing due to my height. I could only hear her announce the dismissal order issued by Fudge to Professor Trelawney in that disgusting and triumphant tone. She seemed to think this was a rare victory. But the others present obviously didn't think so. Most of the students showed expressions of shock, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were already sobbing sadly. Professor McGonagall pushed through the crowd and walked towards the trembling Professor Trelawney. We didn't know what they said, but we people standing outside could also hear Umbridge's sarcastic laughter — but the laughter stopped almost abruptly. The huge oak doors of Hogwarts swung open with a bang, and Dumbledore appeared in the misty night at the doorway. As soon as his silhouette emerged from the mist, all the buzzing discussions died down, and the only sound left in the entire entrance hall was Professor Trelawney's intermittent sobbing.
"I think Dumbledore did it on purpose." Taurus said only after we got back to the common room. "When that centaur appeared, Umbridge looked like she had eaten ten toads alive."
"He's quite good-looking." Lavender Brown had stopped crying now.
"Harry." After two weeks, I finally caught up with him. While he was still muttering with Ron about the need to remind Hagrid to be more careful, I said to him, "Can you wait for me for a moment? I'll go and get the Invisibility Cloak to return it to you."
"Oh." He seemed to have just remembered it. "Okay."
When I came down from the girls' dormitory, Ron and Taurus had already left, and Hermione, who had promised to go to the library with me, was also gone (she must have done it on purpose). Only Harry was left at the place where we usually sat. He was looking down at the Potions essay that had just been handed out today, and it seemed that my father had given him another not-so-good grade.
"Thank you." He said politely when I handed him the package wrapped around the Invisibility Cloak, the same way he had treated me in the past two weeks — he didn't refuse to talk to me. In fact, we had even discussed that the D.A. didn't need to teach everyone the Silencing Charm, which they would surely learn in their sixth year. He listened to me speak gently as he used to and nodded in agreement — but everyone felt that something was off. Even Cedric had asked me what had happened after the D.A. training.
"Also." Before he stood up and left, I quickly handed him the letter from an admirer that I hadn't had a chance to give him, along with the photo. He frowned when he took it and looked at it. First, he put it in his pocket, then quickly took it out again. Then he took out a notebook as if he wanted to put it in, and finally, under my gaze, he casually threw it to the bottom of his schoolbag.
"Anything else?" He asked me in a tone of helplessness.
"No." I shook my head.
He turned around and walked a few steps, then turned back again. I thought he had left something behind, but he knelt down halfway and looked up at me sitting on the armchair very seriously and asked, "Are you really sure there's nothing else?"
I was confused. After thinking for a while, I said, "Well, I have a question. Can I ask?"
After he nodded in agreement, I asked cautiously, "Are we having a fight? I don't really understand. You still seem to be angry, but you're still willing to talk to me. You didn't ignore me, and you didn't lose your temper with me or shout at me or anything."
He made a face as if he had bitten into a sour lemon. After a moment of silence, he said slowly, "What if I admit that I'm still angry?"
"Then how can I make you stop being angry?" I looked at him earnestly. "I know I was wrong about this. I lied. So what can I do to make up for that mistake in your eyes?"
He didn't answer this question directly. Instead, he changed the subject and said, "When my parents used to quarrel — "
"Your parents quarreled too?" I asked curiously. "They seemed to have a very good relationship."
"Of course," he looked rather puzzled by my question. "When the quarrels got really bad, my dad would run away from home and go to Taurus's place to sleep. But usually, he'd be knocking on the door in his pajamas the next morning — as soon as he left, my mom would cast a spell to stop him from coming back in. When I was a kid, this kind of thing happened about once a year. At Taurus's house, it happened two or three times a year. It's much less frequent now."
It's a bit embarrassing to say, but I really only truly believed it after I got married myself. There are so many and such trivial things that can cause conflicts between a husband and wife. And this kind of everyday bickering and arguing isn't what I thought it was when I was a child watching my parents, which was "painful mutual torment." Instead, it's more like a normal state when two people support each other and move forward together. Although not long before I picked up the pen to write this, I had just driven my husband out of the bedroom because he had, once again, softened his heart and told our daughter where I had hidden the candy jar — do I really have to take her to Hermione's parents' place to show her how Muggles treat toothaches? I really don't want to seem like a terrifying and unfeeling mother.
"Ah, when your parents quarreled," I suddenly realized that I had interrupted Harry's previous words. "Then what happened?"
"Forget it. That's getting too far off track — what I mean is, you could try to coax me." A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Coax?" I thought for a long time and then reached out my hand to gently smooth the hair that was sticking up on his head. I had only seen this action in The Beginner's Guide to Owl Keeping, where it said to "coax an angry, fluffing-up owl with this gesture, and then give it a nut as a reward after it calms down." "Um, is that what you mean?"
"Let's just say it is." He shook his head and reached out his hand to hold my wrist that was still above his head.
"I won't lie to you again next time, I promise." I said in a low voice. "You don't have to lend me the Invisibility Cloak anymore... Or it's okay if you stay angry for a little while longer, but could you please be over it before the next D.A. meeting? They've all conjured their Patronuses, and I'm the only one who still can't. It's quite embarrassing."
"All right." He laughed. "I'll do as you say."