Hogwarts: Voldemort, don't stop me from studying

Chapter 992 On the Road to Finding

Pennsylvania, deep in the Appalachian Mountains.

The autumn forests are ablaze with color, with golden, crimson, and dark brown leaves carpeting the ground. The air is crisp and carries the scent of earth and decaying plants.

Abigail gritted her teeth, her hair soaked with sweat and plastered tightly to her forehead.

She had been traveling for a long time and was so tired that she could barely use even the simplest magic, and didn't even want to say a word. But she couldn't fly across the forest on her broomstick or simply Apparate.

Abigail didn't know the Dream Weaver's location. But perhaps because she had also trekked through mountains and rivers to get there last time, she would occasionally recall those fragmented memories when she walked the same route.

This was a route that she and Braun had gradually figured out after wandering back and forth on the mountain for a long time.

By this time, Abigail was exhausted, but ahead of her, the man's steps remained steady like a machine, and the rugged mountain path seemed to pose no difficulty to him.

Suddenly, Abigail slipped and almost tumbled off the moss-covered stones, but luckily a hand reached out and caught her just in time.

She looked up and saw Braun's expressionless face.

"Are you alright?" Braun asked.

"fine."

Abigail shook her head, and with the other person's help, she climbed up the steep slope with a burst of strength.

“Take a break,” Braun suggested, “and have some water too.”

Abigail nodded silently, casually chose a rock to sit on, unscrewed the water bottle Braun handed her, and took two sips.

Braun was also drinking water, but he drank more restrainedly, his throat moving very little, his eyes still scanning his surroundings warily.

Traveling through the mountains and forests is no easy task. The slippery rock walls are natural killers, the cold dew soaks through your boots and trousers, and the sharp branches of the bushes tear your coat to shreds. Not to mention the various wild animals and poisonous insects.

Abigail scanned her surroundings, and a fragment suddenly flashed before her eyes—

“Remember? You came here when you were little.” Brolin sat on a large rock with a relatively relaxed expression, turned to look at Abigail, and smiled, “You and I came together, and our teacher was here too.”

"Really?" Abigail, preoccupied and expressionless, said casually, "I don't remember."

A strange smile flashed across Brolin's lips, but he said sympathetically:

"Oh, back then you had just lost your parents and were in a daze, so you probably didn't remember much about what was happening around you?"

When the past was mentioned, Abigail paused slightly, and a hint of hesitation and guilt flashed across her face.

After all, it was the Purgers who gave her a place to belong and hope for revenge during her most difficult and painful time.

But then, thinking about the organization's increasingly extreme behavior in recent years and their methods of controlling those children, Abigail's wavering disappeared, and her attitude turned cold again.

“Why is there a training base here?” she asked. “What kind of people is the organization training here? Children of savages?” “Hahaha… Abigail, you’re joking!” Brolin laughed a few times and said, “Those left here are naturally children who are not suitable for human society, such as hybrids with giant or Veela blood…”

Abigail's pupils suddenly contracted, her clenched fist turned white from the force, and a chilling coldness mixed with an indescribable feeling of nausea surged up her back.

Brolin said with pity, "Their mothers were raped and gave birth to these unusual children. They would usually abandon them near churches or in garbage cans... Some were found by organizations and taken to these remote places so that they could at least survive."

Abigail remained silent for a long time before standing up and saying, "Let's keep going... Where is that training base?"

……

“Let’s go.” Abigail rested for a while, then stood up, shook her slightly numb arms, and said, “I know what to do next.”

“Wait a minute,” Braun said, raising his hand to remove his rather thick travel cloak.

He walked straight up to Abigail, and with a slightly surprised look in her eyes, unfolded his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

Abigail's own cloak was already torn to shreds by the bushes and branches, but Braun's cloak, as the heir to the Muscats, was different—the fabric was unexpectedly soft yet strong, and seemed to generate heat, quickly dispelling the surrounding chill.

"It's windy up here, you should wear this," Braun said simply, then turned and walked forward.

Abigail looked down at the old cloak, which was torn in many places, and suddenly realized that her own clothes were probably in no better condition.

A subtle sense of embarrassment washed over Abigail. She lowered her head, not refusing the other's kindness, and reached out to pull the large, warm cloak tighter around her. She followed, saying softly:
"Thank you."

Braun nodded and continued to lead the way, as if his somewhat abrupt act of concern had never happened.

Abigail smiled softly, feeling as if the cloak had dispelled some of the coldness and confusion in her heart.

They trekked for another three or four hours, and as darkness approached, a somewhat peculiar scene suddenly appeared before them—

On a grassy field, there are seven or eight white stones of various sizes, the tallest of which is more than two people high, with rounded tops, like magnified eggs.

Beneath the stones grew tenacious moss, and scattered dandelions dotted the grass.

Abigail's expression tightened, and she reached for her wand, whispering, "This is it! The Dreamweaver... is just ahead!"

After passing the stone barrier, the scene before us suddenly changed.

It felt like stepping into a forgotten fairy tale scene. In a relatively flat clearing in the woods, there stood a low but exquisitely crafted forest cabin.

The cabin was built entirely from uncut, bent logs and planks with bark still attached, and the roof was covered with thick moss and lichen, and even had a few clusters of small, cold-resistant purple flowers.

The chimney—if that hollow tree trunk could be considered a chimney—wafted out wisps of smoke, carrying a faint, herbal scent.

Strangely, this house, so obvious, went completely unnoticed even by the wizard Abigail before she passed through the stone barrier, as if it were hidden in the air or simply part of the rocks in the mountains.

(End of this chapter)