Chapter 897: The Sword of Gryffindor

A small episode ended very briefly.

Jon couldn't figure out why the old man came here to look for him all of a sudden, but since this matter happened, it should be resolved.

Things of this level have not troubled him recently.

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

People who go to bed so early, of course, cannot fall asleep.

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 passed on to him by cinnabar.

The scene that appeared in the screen happened to be midnight.

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

The heavy snow was still falling heavily, Harry came out of the tent, and proposed to change places with Hermione.

"It needs to be changed to a more secluded place."

Hermione naturally agreed with Harry's proposal very much. She shivered and added a sweatshirt on top of her pajamas as she spoke: "I always feel that I hear someone walking outside, and once or twice I seem to see someone."

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

"I believe it's a hallucination,"

Hermione seemed a little nervous: "The snow in the dark is easy to create illusions for people's eyes...

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

Half an hour later, the tent was packed, and Harry with the Horcrux and Hermione clutching the beaded pouch, Apparated together.

A familiar feeling of suffocation engulfed them, and Harry's feet lifted off the snow and landed heavily on the ground like frozen ground covered in fallen leaves.

"Where are we?"

He looked at this strange forest.

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

"Forest of Dean," she said, "I came here to camp once, with Mom and Dad."

It's freezing cold here, and the trees are covered in silver, but at least they keep out the wind.

They spent most of their time in their tents, curled up next to those bright blue fires that Hermione was so good at making.

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

Harry felt as though he was recovering from a short but serious illness, a feeling reinforced by Hermione's concern.

In the afternoon, snowflakes fell in the sky again, and even the sheltered clearing they were in was dusted with crystal powder.

Harry's senses seemed more alert after two nights of sleepless nights.

Godric's Hollow escape was so thrilling that Voldemort seemed closer and more threatening than ever.

As night fell again, Harry refused to let Hermione watch, telling her to go to bed.

Harry moved an old cushion and sat at the mouth of the tent, still shivering in all his sweaters.

The darkness grows thicker,

Thick and almost impenetrable.

He was about to take out the Marauder's Map and look at Ginny's black spot for a while, when he remembered that it was Christmas and she should be at the Burrow.

In the big forest, every tiny movement seems to be magnified.

Harry knew there must be many animals in the woods, but he wished they would all be quiet lest he confuse their harmless running and scurrying with other sounds that portended 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 had worked for so many weeks, how could it not work now?

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was out of the ordinary tonight.

Several times Harry sat up abruptly, his neck stiff and aching because he had fallen asleep leaning against the tent wall without knowing it.

The night was darker, a velvety blackness, and he seemed to be suspended in a realm between apparation and apparition.

He was about to raise one hand in front of his face, to see if he could see the fingers, when a miracle happened.

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

I don't know what the light source is, but it moves soundlessly, and the silver light seems to be floating towards him.

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

He squinted his eyes, because the silver light was so dazzling that the bushes in front of him became black silhouettes, and the thing was still approaching...

Then the source of light floated out from behind an oak tree, a silvery white doe, bright as moonlight, treading gracefully on the ground, still soundless, leaving no hooves on the soft white snow.

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

Harry stared at the creature in amazement, not because of its strangeness, but because of its inexplicable familiarity and familiarity.

He felt like he'd been waiting for it, only forgot about it once, and only now remembered their date.

His urge to call Hermione had been so strong just now, but it was gone all at once.

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

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

"No."

He said, his voice hoarse from not using it for a long time: "Come back!"

The doe continued to walk leisurely through the woods, and soon the stripes of thick black trunks were printed on its bright body.

For the tense second Harry hesitated, alarm bells rang softly: it could be a ruse, a decoy.

But instinct, an irresistible instinct, told him it wasn't black magic.

He chased after it.

The snow crunched under Harry's feet, but the doe moved soundlessly through the woods because it was only light.

It led him further and further into the forest. Harry walked quickly, trusting that when the doe stopped it would let him get close to it, and then it would talk, and the voice would say what he needed to know.

At last the doe stopped and turned its beautiful head to Harry again.

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

Though darkness had engulfed it whole, its bright image was imprinted on his retinas, blurring his vision.

As he lowered his eyes, the image grew brighter, disorienting him.

Now, fear seized him: its existence meant safety.

"Fluorescent flickering!"

The image of the doe faded away with each blink of Harry's eye.

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

Will he be attacked?

Would it lead him into an ambush?

It seemed that someone was looking at him from a place where the wand could not shine. Was it his imagination?

Harry raised his wand a little higher, no one was rushing at him, no green light shot from behind the tree.

Why did the doe bring him here?

Something flickered in the fluorescent light of his wand, and Harry turned sharply. It was just a small frozen pond.

He held his wand up and looked, the cracked black surface gleaming.

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

But there was something shining beneath that thick, hazy gray ice, a big silver cross...

His heart beat in his throat: he ran down the edge of the pond, tilting his wand so that the light could reach the bottom as much as possible.

A crimson light flashed...

It was a sword with a ruby ​​gleaming on the hilt...

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

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