My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort

The next time McGonagall unwraps her hair bun, I don't know how many years will come.

But at least this evening, she danced very happily.

Their dance steps are not complicated. In fact, this is just a simple dance popular among farmers in Caithness County, and it is also a dance step that McGonagall has danced since childhood.

Every Sunday, McGonagall’s father, the respected Pastor Robert McGonagall, would take his daughter to the town nearest to his home. After presiding in the dilapidated church in the middle of the town, he would Will take out his beloved accordion and play a song on the square in the open space in front of the church.

This is also a rare rest time of the week for the devout followers who are busy with their livelihoods. They will light a bonfire and dance McGonagall's familiar dance steps around.

Old couples and old wives are cuddling each other, young people are looking for their sweethearts, and children are seizing the opportunity to escape from the restraint of their parents, running around in the square like crazy, as everyone knows, their parents are embracing and watching their love. Crystallization, as if back to when he was young.

The precocious McGonagall urinating is incompatible with this simple and unchanging town, but she also cherishes it so that she can let go of the pressure and enjoy the leisure time with her father.

But as Miguel grew up day by day, she could hear the increasing pressure and anxiety in her father’s accordion. She was as smart as her, and of course she understood that in the heart of her father, who was always known for his piety and honesty, the witch about him The secrets of his wife and witch daughter put him under so much pressure.

Seeing his father's increasingly haggard face and the widening rift between his parents, McGonagall knew the difference between a wizard and a Muggle when he didn't understand any magic.

But she was still like the protagonist in every sad story about destiny. In an afternoon when she was sitting beside her accordion-playing father and feeling the breeze, she saw a hand stretched out to her.

She raised her head, and the boy in front of her was wearing a shirt and overalls. His shoes and trousers were covered with dirt. There was a sun-like smile on his face, almost blowing away the years of haze in McGonagall's heart.

"Minerva, can I invite you to dance with me?"

McGonagall didn't know if the haze in her heart had dissipated, but she knew that the dark shadow had loosened a little when she saw the boy.

"Dougall, after so many years, you are still so young."

In a daze, the music in the auditorium pulled McGonagall back from the blurred thoughts. She squeezed his hand, stared at his face, and muttered.

The man heard her voice, bowed his head, and smiled brightly.

Even if she knew that the man holding her arms was not the one she liked, McGonagall was still intoxicated by the touch of his embrace, not knowing whether it was because of the sherry Nelson poured out, or because of the depression in her heart that had fermented bitterly for several years. Love.

"Dougall, sorry." McGonagall closed his eyes and pressed his ears to the chest of the person in front of him, feeling the sound of running water from the place where the heartbeat was supposed to be made, two lines of clear tears streaming down from the corner of her eyes and streaming in In his body made of flowing water, "I love you."

The man's face still had the smile that was full of sunshine at the beginning, but for some reason, the smile looked a little bitter.

When the dance music was not over, McGonagall suddenly stopped, and the puppet-like man almost tripped over her. Under the emergency operation of Nelson not far away, the man maintained his balance and stood in front of McGonagall.

Just as Nelson was thinking about what to do next, McGonagall had already given him the answer-just let her Dougal stand in front of her.

McGonagall plunged into Dougal’s arms and couldn’t cry, but the band’s more high-pitched music gently concealed her crying. In the eyes of outsiders, this petite young teacher was throwing each other in the arms of his lover. Tell your heart.

McGonagall’s hand holding Dougel’s chest pierced his clothes and skin due to emotions, but the blood did not flow out. He still smiled, and the silent McGonagall felt his more and more moist palms and The cuffs were wet, tears couldn't stop streaming down.

Growing up in the tragedy of her parents, after all, she did not have her mother to pursue the illusory love at the expense of hurting two people for a lifetime. In the first year after leaving Hogwarts, when she was eighteen, she tasted it successively. The desperate love and the pain of losing love, years later, she still dare not look back at Dougal, still dare not tell him what choice she made on that night without saying goodbye, what is her heart How suffering, how much she loves him.

"Dougall, sorry, sorry, Dougall, Dougall, I love you..."

McGonagall, who had always been sane, sobbed in Dougel's arms incoherently, and she couldn't control her magic power just like those little wizards who hadn't yet possessed a magic wand.

She hugged Dougal hard, wishing to rub him into her chest, her five senses gradually blurred, and her consciousness almost drifted back to the summer when she accepted the dance invitation in front of the small church in the outskirts of Caithness County. .

Finally, her magical power erupted uncontrollably, and the strong shock made Dougal's body produced by Nelson's transformation technique instantly return to its most primitive form. The water ball wrapped in alcohol exploded and turned into a misty drizzle, floating. Above the auditorium.

"Are there still such shows?"

The wizards writhing their bodies on the dance floor felt the drizzle above their heads, sniffing the sourness and sweetness of the exclusive sherry mixed in the rain.

McGonagall was stunned, and the coldness of the rain made her understand that she had already lost her former lover.

"She must love him very much..."

Just as Nelson was about to stand up to comfort McGonagall, the exhausted Myrtle in the chair beside her suddenly said in a weak tone.

Nelson turned her head and saw Myrtle smiled brightly at herself, and then she jumped off the chair and staggered in McGonagall's direction.

At the same time, Nelson noticed that Hufflepuff’s Sprout had run up to McGonagall, and they seemed to be very good friends.

Nelson yawned. It seemed that McGonagall didn't need to comfort him as a rough brother. He drew out his wand and waved it at will. A faint water vapor floated out of the wine bottle beside him and attached to his. Body.

"It's really interesting magic," Tom turned to look at Nelson, who was sitting aside, "It feels very practical."

Looking at the words in his eyes, "Where can I learn it?" Looking forward to Tom, Nelson shrugged helplessly. "This magic seems to be only the Wiltening family knows."

"It's okay, do you bring the genealogy? You can write me next to your father now." Tom blinked his eyes, madly expressing, "I've seen Riddle's surname a long time ago."

"I think my father might not want a brother," Nelson thought for a while and said, "but he shouldn't mind having an extra grandson, but according to Wiltening's naming rules, you need to change a name that starts with an'O' , How about O'Neill?"

"What's the strange name? Shouldn't'O' start with Irving or Oscar?" Tom didn't mind Nelson's slurping himself, and said with a smile.

"I'm sorry to disturb your seniority." An old but powerful voice jokingly inserted into the conversation between the two. Nelson raised his head and saw a kind-looking old man standing in front of them, wearing a piece of his own. Tattered into a ragged suit, how he didn't look like a good person, Bob Bowie looked at Tom, "Warrior O'Neal, can you lend me this gentleman for a few minutes?"

After seeing the person, Tom stood up straight and rushed to hold Bob in front of Nelson. He has always respected people with unique skills, especially Bob who gave Nelson and Myrtle tonight. After calling the perfect accompaniment, "Mr. Bowie, you are great tonight."

"You are also great tonight," Bob blinked. "Mr. Riddle, if I were half as handsome as you, then I wouldn't be a singer until I'm dying."

It seemed that Tom didn't want to lend the gentleman beside him to Bob for a few minutes. He even wanted to blast this gentleman away and have a few more words with Bob.

Seeing this scene, Walburga seized the opportunity, bounced from his chair, appeared next to Tom like a teleport, and took his arm, "Shall we go for another dance? Tonight's first song is not yet complete. Finished jumping."

"This gentleman is to blame," Bob joked, pointing to Nelson, "I blame him for being great."

Before Tom could say more, he was dragged away by Walburga.

"Long time no see, Nelson."

After Tom left, Bob straightened his back, and when Nelson was too shocked, he sat down beside him.

He looked at McGonagall, who had calmed down at the entrance of the auditorium, and sighed, "Love is the most beautiful emotion in the world, but under the constraints of stereotypes and vulgarity, it can even become a poison to destroy a person."

"Minerva will not be destroyed, she is stronger than anyone thought, otherwise she would not become a Gryffindor."

Nelson shook his head and retorted.

"But the tragedy that can't be loved will naturally leave scars on people." Bob changed a more comfortable posture. He raised his hand to call an empty chair, and put his foot on it with Erlang's legs. "I have regrets." What’s the difference between a life that’s been lost and a life that’s been destroyed? Just like Quidditch losing ten points and three hundred points, what’s the difference? Not to mention... a hat doesn’t determine our life."

Bob suddenly said something that McGonagall said on the banks of the Black Lake some afternoon in the year when Nelson first entered Hogwarts.

Nelson turned his head and looked at the wizard who is famous for music. After a while, he showed a playful smile. "Did you persuade Queenie Goldstein like this? Mr. Grindelwald?"

"I didn't persuade her anything," Grindelwald spread his hand in Bob's face, retorting Nelson's accusation against him. "You should ask the Magical Congress of the United States how they forced a loving couple to be like that. It looks like."

Nelson frowned and looked around.

"Look," Grindelwald raised his head and pointed to McGonagall, who had re-twisted his loose hair into a bun, and said, "Even in the UK, this country that prides itself on treating Muggles equally is brought about by discrimination and prejudice. The tragedy also happens to us all the time."

"Perhaps you are right on this point."

Nelson had to admit that what Grindelwald said was so reasonable. Compared with the Rappaport Law and the Secrecy Law, deeper grievances and gaps exist in people's hearts. In the final analysis, the source of these tragedies comes from wizards and There are objective differences and oppositions in Muggle.

"I like you so much, Nelson, you make sense." After that, he looked at Dumbledore, who had changed his partner in the middle of the dance floor, and smiled playfully.

As if feeling something, Dumbledore turned his head and looked in Nelson's direction. Grindelwald raised his arm and greeted him with a smile.

Seeing Nelson and Bob Bowie having a good conversation, Dumbledore smiled politely and returned to the rhythm of the dance.

"It's really interesting." Grindelwald put down his idol baggage with the face of others, and said that there is no lower limit~www.readwn.com~ This sneaky is really exciting. "

"Mr. Grindelwald, the real Mr. Bob Bowie..." Nelson asked.

"Don't worry, Bob and I know him well," Grindelwald raised his eyebrows. "You don't have to worry about his safety. In fact, Bob Bowie also thinks this is very interesting."

"Why do you want to replace him as the head of the band?"

"As everyone knows, I am a person who likes to join in the fun," Grindelwald raised a sly smile on Bob's old face, "There is such a fun, why should I not come to see it? Fortunately, I came right. , I have to say, that dance between you and that little flower can be called the only one... If I didn’t come, your dance music would not be so wonderful."

"It's really wonderful." Nelson agreed.

"By the way, this is what you want," Grindelwald took out from his pocket a small black ball similar in shape to Nelson's small silver ball, with the silver Deathly Hallows logo printed on it, "Don't tell me, this thing It's really easy to use."

Nelson received the small ball, feeling the cold and tyrannical breath in his hand, and he couldn't help but shiver.

"However," Grindelwald said, "I thought that the warrior of Grindelwald would be you."

"Tom is better than me in some ways."

"It doesn't matter, the stage will always be set up," Grindelwald said seriously, then asked wildly, "You said, if he died in this Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore would Do you mourn for him?"

"..."

"Oh! Sorry," Grindelwald stretched out his arm and patted Nelson on the shoulder. "Don't worry, people who I have asked this sentence are generally able to live."

(https://)

Please remember the domain name of this book's first publication:. Mobile version reading URL: