Hogwarts Study Panel.

Chapter 599, Section 597: The Story of the Borderlands

Snape had a dream today.

Perhaps it was because they had just returned to Hogwarts, leaving behind that place where they needed to be constantly careful;

Perhaps it was seeing a dark-haired little wizard sleeping so soundly that I was infected with sleepiness;

Or perhaps the cellar was filled with calming incense, and today it finally worked its magic—something it hadn't done in a long time.

The end result was that Snape fell into a deep sleep.

That's good, at least he won't have to look at those ugly faces anymore.

"Severus, what are you doing?"

A disgusting voice rang out.

Snape swept his gaze across the face coldly, revealing a repulsive expression.

"roll."

He said.

"You should respect me, Severus. A man like you, ah, who knows if you're truly loyal?"

Accompanied by hoarse conversations, gravel continued to fall, and the air was filled with dust and the smell of blood.

The little girl's cries were intermittent, like a thin needle piercing the desolate ruins.

Little Crow kicked away a piece of broken brick with his toe, and when his gaze fell on the girl, he visibly paused, and the corners of his mouth even curled up slightly.

He crouched down and said in an almost gentle tone, "Shh—don't cry. Tell me, where are your mom and dad?"

Snape stood three steps away, his black robes stained with dust.

He felt somewhat dazed, as if he were dreaming, and it was a nightmare.

"Crouch".

His voice was soft, but it made Crouch stop reaching for the girl.

"What? Severus, you wouldn't—"

'

Crouch Jr. turned his head, his smile laced with undisguised sarcasm. "Are you going to give me that nonsense about innocent people?"

"I have no interest in saying anything to you."

Snape said, "But none of the things Lord Dark Lord instructed me to do included toying with a child who couldn't even understand when he cried."

Crouch Jr. stood up, dusted off his knees, and walked step by step toward Snape.

He was half a head shorter than Snape, so he had to tilt his head back slightly, but his imposing presence was not diminished at all.

"I've always been curious,"

He said, his tone light and almost cheerful, "Are you in such a hurry to get back to report our achievements tonight to Dumbledore, or to curry favor with your master? Or perhaps..."

He tilted his head. "You want both?"

Snape neither backed away nor avoided his gaze.

There was nothing in those dark eyes, like two sealed wells.

"Little Crouch,"

He spoke slowly, "When you burned down a village, did you ever think about what the Dark Lord valued most? Was it your unwavering loyalty, or your intelligence?"

Crouch Jr.'s smile froze for a moment.

Of course he understands.

What Voldemort needed last was a madman who couldn't control himself.

Especially before their plans are implemented.

On the other side of the ruins, the girl's cries gradually weakened and turned into sobs.

Snape's gaze passed over Crouch Jr.'s shoulder, landed on the boy, and lingered for less than a second before looking away.

"Walk."

Snape said there was no emotion in his voice.

Crouch stared at him for a long time, then suddenly burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking with laughter: "Oh, you know what, Severus? One day, I'll see you slip up. Then..."

"I'll be waiting for that time."

Snape interrupted him and gave him a cold look.

Finally, he turned and walked towards the edge of the ruins, his black robe billowing in the wind before disappearing into the night.

Crouch stood there, looked down at his wand, and then looked back at the little girl huddled in the corner, trembling.

The smile on his face slowly faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression.

He didn't raise his hand again, but followed Snape's direction and walked into the same darkness.

The broken streetlight flickered, and quite abruptly, it stayed lit for a while.

Half of Snape's face was bathed in light, and he felt drowsy, as if he were about to wake up.

But he was still not awake; he only heard some strange noises.

"It's my—Professor Snape, he's having a nightmare."

A very familiar voice.

"Nightmares are common, child."

A remarkably gentle voice, the kind that lulls you to sleep, said, "People should have more nightmares; it means they still have things they're afraid of."

"You may be right, Ms. Bardil."

The black cat trudged through the damp mud, seemingly heading towards a small town.

This small town is really strange.

The black cat didn't remember there being a town in the dreamlike realm, but the word just suddenly appeared in its furry head.

And the witch in front of us, she also appeared suddenly.

Just as the black cat was trying to figure out its direction, a gentle figure emerged from behind a huge fern with drooping aerial roots.

She identified herself as Lady Badir.

He wore a simple, light-colored robe, the hem of which was covered with fresh soil and a few specks of moss, and his round face was filled with patience and warmth.

She seemed unsurprised to see a black cat here; she simply bent down and gently rubbed the cat's whiskers with her knuckles.

"You're looking for him, aren't you?"

Madam Barthel's voice, like the soft crackling of firewood in a winter fireplace, carried a warm and comforting quality. "Come with me, I'll lead you through this garden. The paths here are a bit capricious, always playing tricks on strangers."

The black cat involuntarily followed in her footsteps.

And he kept looking around at the place.

They entered a valley entwined with dark green vines. As Lady Barthel's skirt brushed the ground, the seeds that should have been dormant immediately awoke, sprouting tender shoots at a visible speed, blooming into tiny, star-like white flowers, only to wither quickly after they passed by, completing their life cycle.

"Don't be afraid."

Barthel didn't turn around, yet he seemed to sense the black cat's momentary hesitation. "Here, growth and decay are the same thing. Something eternal."

After passing through the valley floor, the view suddenly opened up, but it didn't feel real.

The air here is as clear as if it has been washed by water. Two figures can be vaguely seen, yet it is as if they are separated by a layer of rippling water. The sound comes from afar, with a slight echo in the emptiness.

The distant sound of bells rang out, and the black cat felt that the sound was particularly familiar.

It's as if I've heard it more than once in a dream.

On the edge of the town, flowerbeds stretch out from the valley.

The group sat there in the small courtyard, which was laden with fruit.

The black cat spotted the two witches at a glance.

Rowena Ravenclaw, its teacher.

She sat in an elmwood chair with a thick book spread out on her lap.

Her gaze occasionally drifted past the books to Helena, who was forcing herself to read.

So she would occasionally raise the corners of her mouth slightly and gaze at the distant valley.

"Loyna, has it arrived?"

A carefree voice rang out, and the serene expression on Rowena's face vanished instantly, her beautiful features turning sharp: "I thought you were very close to it."

"Of course it's close! As a student who can wield my sword—"

""

Gryffindor casually sat down in the chair, crushing a small rose petal under his foot.

The black cat sensed the witch's aura deepen beside it. Meanwhile, Gryffindor, as if startled, quickly raised his foot: "How come you've grown so fast?"

He said somewhat uneasily.

"A carefree guy — of course —"

Ravenclaw glanced at him, then looked somewhat helplessly at Helena, who had retreated into the cabin.

"Who are you calling carefree? I'm very busy too," Gryffindor said, somewhat irritated. "Every day I have to think about how many dark wizards' heads I should cut off."

"Oh.

""

Ravenclaw gave a perfunctory reply and got up to leave the courtyard.

"Someone has to do these things. — That's the rule —"

Gryffindors are not talkative; their swords are their mouths. But when facing Ravenclaws, they always feel the urge to say more.

Perhaps it was because they hadn't seen each other for so long, and his blunt words hurt her again.

"Royna!"

He suddenly roared.

The black cat saw Ravenclaw stop.

"I----"

He deflated like a punctured balloon. "I shouldn't have mocked your wisdom; perhaps we don't need wisdom at times. I just can't stand that you're still covering for her even after you died because of her—"

The black cat's tail was wagging constantly, proving that it was very interested in the scene before it.

"Perhaps this is true courage—remaining steadfast even after knowing about her flaws."

After saying these words, Gryffindor picked up his sword and walked away.

The black cat realized that it shouldn't be intruding into the scene right now.

So it quietly lay down on a huge plant.

As the fruits of these plants fell, they began to hop and jump on the ground.

"These two seem to be irreconcilable enemies, but you see, courage without the guidance of wisdom degenerates into reckless violence. And wisdom without the courage to defend it will ultimately become a useless object in an ivory tower."

As Mrs. Badir said gently, the bouncing fruit jumped into her arms.

The black cat seemed to be deep in thought.

"When you came last time, darling, did you cause quite a commotion?"

Lady Bardir looked at the black cat with her bright eyes.

The black cat knew nothing about this.

All its clues come from a small scene in Headmaster Dumbledore's mind.

"I----"

"Oh, don't feel embarrassed to answer. After all, it's normal to forget your dreams."

Ms. Bardir always knew how to comfort others perfectly.

"You know—"

"The black cat asked."

"Of course I know, oh, that's why I came here,"

Ms. Barthel's smile was like a warm fireplace. "I'm going to tell you the rules of the borderlands. On this point, I'm the exact opposite of your teacher. I think hiding more leads to regret."

The black cat listened intently.

It doesn't believe that Ms. Hufflepuff is more ignorant than Mr. Ravenclaw.

Badger — it means badger.

In the borderlands, who would call themselves Lady Badger?

"That stone slab, it's destined to crack. I suspect it can withstand a maximum of seven cracks. It's neither a good nor a bad thing; it represents the wizard's will becoming increasingly aligned with this land, and it also means the wizard can unleash as much of their magic as possible—"

Lady Barthel's voice was unhurried and measured, "Many wizards here wander about; I think regret always permeates life. Perhaps you can be of some help."

Whether they're lingering here or there.

"You mean—"

The black cat seemed to understand something.

It probably understood.

The last time it saw it in Headmaster Dumbledore's mind was probably the scene after the empty rune cracked open.

It realized that its proficiency in soul transformation most likely increased at that time, and only at that time could it access more powerful magical forces.

Lady Hufflepuff said, "Wizards can let their magic be released as freely as possible"—

In other words, is this the secret to soul transformation and advancement?

It only traveled to and from the border once, and its soul transformation went from a skilled person to a master?

Oh, that's really—

The legend has a chance.

"Hmm, look at them—"

Lady Barthel gently raised her hand, and the black cat saw the mist swirling around it being pulled. It was a creamy white or milky white mist, always subtly different from the other mists of the border region. "Forgiveness—at the boundary between judgment and eternity, it truly is a word that is both desirable and unattainable."

"forgive?"

The black cat chewed on the word.

"You must have seen them before; they're not in this area."

Ms. Badir said.

The black cat was somewhat surprised.

How could Lady Hufflepuff know that the mist had drifted out more than once while she was examining Voldemort's memories?

This is why it confirmed Voldemort's obsession with the number seven.

"That's because your connection with the borderlands is becoming increasingly close—use them carefully, they can help you see through the wizard's soul."

"Badier said again."

"You mean—I can—"

The black cat's ears twitched; it wondered if Lady Hufflepuff was thinking the same thing as it.

"What else makes up a wizard's soul?"

Ms. Barthol smiled. "Some emotions, some wisdom, are so fragile in the face of eternity, yet they endure for so long. In the soul of a wizard, thought is the eternal theme. Therefore, it's perfectly normal to understand a wizard's secret. Many people here do the same."

In other words, if it could use these mists, it would be able to see through Voldemort's hidden secrets.

"It's just what you think."

The black cat trembled.

Having just finished explaining, Ms. Hufflepuff gave it a demonstration.

"Thank you, Ms. Barthel."

The black cat expressed its sincere gratitude.

"I love it when the little wizards thank me; it reminds me of tender shoots growing strong and healthy."

Ms. Barthel smiled warmly. "I guess you must be eager to get started. Well, someone was just having a nightmare, so perhaps you can help."

""

She was referring to Professor Snape's dream dumpling.

It was shaking violently just now, producing a dark, misty vapor.

The black cat paused for a moment, unsure whether it should—

"I've met her; she's a beautiful, lovely, and brave child. No one could dislike her. She would be overjoyed if she knew he had followed the same path as her."

Ms. Badir said.

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