A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 715 Charles is looking for you
Everyone could see that Hermione's complexion was not good; her face was tense, her brows were furrowed, and her eyes burned with suppressed anger.

She strode over to the table next to Harry and Ron and slammed her usually bulging, incredibly heavy backpack onto the table.

Harry, Ron, and the others, even Lavender and Parvati in the distance, instinctively shrank back and moved away from the table, waiting for the familiar heavy sound of the backpack hitting the surface.

However, this time it didn't happen.

Today, the sound of my schoolbag falling onto the table was unusually light, like an empty shell.

This unusual situation temporarily pulled Harry out of his depression, and he looked at Hermione with a puzzled expression.

He was initially immersed in his own bad mood, but now his attention was drawn to Hermione's unusual behavior.

Hermione sat heavily in the chair, her chest heaving, clearly very angry.

“Mrs. Pince!” she said through gritted teeth. “She just announced that from tonight until the end of the year, all books in the library—all of them—are prohibited from being borrowed and can only be read in the reading room!”

She said it was some kind of library upgrade, and the bookshelves needed to be reorganized!

"Organizing bookshelves is always just a matter of waving a wand a few times, I've never closed the library like this before!"

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but to no avail. She continued angrily, "I suspect this is Umbridge pulling the strings again. She just wants to restrict our access to knowledge!"

Hermione became more and more agitated as she spoke, her voice rising considerably, as if she wanted to unleash all the anger in her heart.

This is undoubtedly bad news.

For someone like Hermione who considers the library her second home, this is nothing short of torture.

Even Harry and Ron could sense the almost tangible resentment and frustration emanating from her—a strong dissatisfaction stemming from the needless obstruction of her pursuit of knowledge.

After venting her anger at the library, Hermione seemed to finally manage to shift her attention to her two friends.

She looked at their still listless appearance, sighed, and softened her tone slightly: "By the way, Charles sent me a message, there's something that concerns you."

Hermione took out her communication notebook from her bag, opened it, and handed it to them.

Harry took the communication notebook, and Ron leaned over to look at it as well.

The handwriting on the page was familiar to Harry, and he could imitate Charles's handwriting skillfully: "Tell Harry and Ron that during the next Hogsmeade week, they should go to the house with the bird pattern on the door and the bronze door knocker in the village early in the morning, and it's best not to eat breakfast there."

The content is brief, yet it is puzzling and full of mystery.

"Charles wants to see us?" Ron looked up, staring blankly at Hermione, then at Harry. "He's not in the mountains doing his research with the girls anymore, what does he want with us?"

His face was full of doubt, his brows furrowed, as if he was trying hard to figure out the reason.

Seamus, with his sharp ears, caught the key words and immediately perked up, leaning over to say, "Charles must know you were in a bad mood because of that pink toad, so he specially prepared something nice to comfort you!"

Nave also said, "Maybe it's a new dish from Dancing Grass, or some new stuff specially brought in from the United States!"

He winked and made faces, trying to lighten the mood and help them both release their previous suppressed emotions.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance.

Seamus and Neville's guess sounded quite reasonable.

Although Charles was off campus, he was clearly keeping an eye on Hogwarts.

Receiving his invitation at this time was like seeing a glimmer of light in a gloomy sky. Perhaps he really had prepared something that could help them temporarily forget their troubles; this thought brought a hint of anticipation to their faces.

"Maybe." Harry handed the communication notebook back to Hermione.

Although the Umbridge ban and the sense of loss he felt while playing Quidditch still weighed heavily on him, a vague sense of anticipation did arise in his heart at this moment.

Ron's expression softened a bit; at least he wasn't so lifeless anymore, and there was a hint of vitality in his eyes.

The next day, the weather remained gloomy.

The spiral staircase in the North Tower seemed longer than usual, giving off a dizzying feeling, with each step seemingly testing one's patience.

The air in the divination classroom was still suffocatingly thick, the pungent smell of spices almost solidified, making one feel drowsy as soon as they entered.

The classroom was dimly lit, with thick curtains blocking out the already thin daylight. Only a dozen small lamps cast dim, yellowish halos on the round table covered with a dark tablecloth, creating a mysterious yet oppressive atmosphere.

Today, Professor Trelawney arrived dressed as a giant, shimmering insect, drifting in amidst the billowing steam and smoke.

The countless beaded necklaces and bracelets she wore jingled, and behind her thick glasses, her magnified eyes appeared even more hazy and enigmatic, as if they could see through people's hearts yet remain unfathomable.

“Today,” Professor Trelawney’s signature ethereal and indistinct voice rang out, as if from some distant dream realm, “we will continue to explore the trajectory of destiny revealed by dreams… The threads of fate are intricate and complex, and only those with the ‘third eye’ can glimpse the shadows of the future from those insignificant dreams…”

Her voice echoed in the classroom, carrying a mesmerizing rhythm, as if each syllable was shrouded in mist, gently falling into the students' ears, giving them an unreal feeling, as if she herself were floating between reality and illusion.

Harry and Ron squeezed around a small round table, both looking gloomy.

The table was far too narrow for the two of them; their elbows bumped together from time to time. The parchment, teacups, and the book "Omens of Dreams" were piled up haphazardly, adding to their frustration.

The course started with two people discussing the same dream, but now they have to stand up, one person tells the other what they dreamed about, and the other interprets the dream.

Each time they stood up felt like a public execution, especially when Professor Trelawney looked over with her hazy eyes, as if she could see through every fabricated detail in their minds.

Harry and Ron's biggest problem now is how to make their nonsense sound plausible, at least not in that pitying yet excited tone, saying, "Oh, my dear, you've been shrouded in the shadow of fate..."

“Let’s continue this time,” Harry said in a low voice, glancing warily toward the podium. “I’ll make up a dream, and you’ll say I’m going to have some bad luck.”

Ron nodded, his lips barely moving as he replied, "We used that trick last time."

Harry shrugged and said, "So we're all doomed, aren't we?"

What he said is true.

Right after their last divination lesson, they had a terrible time in the Quidditch match.

Ron thought he made a lot of sense, after all, reality had already verified their "prediction," even though it was purely coincidental.

Harry pondered for a moment and said, "Last time I dreamt I was being chased by a dog, what do you think I should dream about this time?"

Ron stroked his chin, his eyes suddenly lighting up: "How about we make up something really weird, like a winged, sharp-beaked toad?"

They had long since figured out Professor Trelawney's tricks: the stranger the divination, the worse the outcome, the more she liked it.

She could always find "hints of fate" in the most absurd dreams, and then announce in that ethereal yet firm tone—you are about to face a calamity in your destiny.

(End of this chapter)