My classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort

Chapter 428 Flowers

Even though the autumn wind is bleak, the heather is still tenacious. Even the large grasslands on the Scottish Highlands have withered, but the purple color close to the ground is still there. They keep warm with dead grass and moss corpses. Even if the winter is approaching, they are still struggling. Blooming, just to make the dry and cracked soil less dead.

Today is not a good day. The drizzle obscures people's sight, prevents the seers from seeing the distance clearly, prevents the frustrated from seeing joy, and makes everyone's clothes wet by the rain. In the bleakness, I felt the bleakness of the young woman in the distance.

The colorful little church standing on the top of the hill also lost its color due to the bad weather, and became gray and dirty. In the backyard of the church, there was a grassy and desolate open space. This is the cemetery that every church will set up. , but this cemetery is too deserted, and the surrounding believers seem to be unwilling to be buried here alone after death, which makes the eye-catching big pit in the corner of the cemetery soon become the tomb for the No. 1 deceased.

Mag was standing by the pit in a solemn black dress, her expression was covered by the black veil on her cheeks, she was wearing a pair of black gloves covered in mud, she was digging numbly with a rusty shovel in an unfamiliar posture, Her best friend, Flitwick, was holding a pickaxe that was much taller than himself, and was digging a hole with his own hands. The wizard's weak body could not support this kind of work, but Flitwick, who was entrusted by his friend, still persisted. Willing to use magic, he stopped to take a rest from time to time, and looked up at the sluggish Meg—this was quite different from her usual shrewd and reliable image in school.

The rain was streaming down her face and body, and the drenched dress was tightly attached to her body. Just looking at it made her feel cold.

"Almost." Mag said suddenly.

"So shallow? Is it enough?" Flitwick asked in a low voice.

"Just bury it here, she has nothing to bury..."

Mag shook his head, bent down, and picked up a box made of pine wood at his feet. This is wood from Isabel's hometown. The wooden box is carved with patterns of heather that can be seen everywhere. Many years ago, Isabel was Accepting the pursuit of the young pastor in such a blooming heather bushes, the two left everything behind, decided to spend their lives privately, and fled to another inaccessible place full of heather with their love that is not understood by the world. In the field.

"Bury it shallower, at least when there is sun, she can feel warm."

Mag's voice was extremely calm, but Flitwick, who knew her well, sighed softly, wanted to say something more, but didn't say it.

Old Robert sat on the simple steps at the back door of the church, with his head hooked in silence, as if he hadn't noticed that his wife's tomb had been prepared. His two sons sat beside their father, one of whom seemed to have reached a sensible age, immersed in the In the grief of losing his mother, the youngest son is still ignorant. He doesn't understand what these strangers in black are doing, why his father suddenly became so old, and what losing his mother means to him. What does it mean? Bored, he clasped the broken stones on the steps with his hands, and used them to form a few vivid animals.

Isabelle's funeral is finally here, and although she doesn't seem to have anything worth burying, it's this weekend.

Several invited friends stood behind the father and son. There were not many people, only five of them——Dumbledore with a solemn expression, Nelson and Tom in two black suits, who were speechless while covering their mouths Augusta, and Hagrid, who was as tall as a gate, but cried like a child.

They are all friends who are close to Mag. At first she only invited Flitwick alone, but he suggested "don't let your mother go too lonely", so Mag added these few people, she didn't want to let When others see their own sadness, they don't want their friends to feel sad because of themselves.

Holding a black umbrella, Nelson took a step forward, shielding Mr. Robert from the wind and rain for a moment. His shoulders and hair were quickly wet by the rain, but as the "culprit" that caused all this, perhaps only in this way can he Make yourself better.

In fact, he often asked himself whether the McGonagall family could have lived in a happy atmosphere if he hadn't chosen to "medd his business".

The old pastor raised his head and sent a forced smile to Nelson. He knew the truth about his wife's death, and he also understood that if the young man in front of him hadn't come to visit, Isabel might still be able to spend her old age peacefully in the fantasy dream he wove, but he really Unable to resent Nelson, his uprightness does not allow him to turn a blind eye to his wife's evil deeds.

"Son," he, who was used to confessing, seemed to know what Nelson was thinking, and said softly, "You did what you were supposed to do, and what is right is right, and what is wrong is wrong."

On his left, the older boy raised his head and stared fiercely at Nelson's face. Nelson turned his head to look, but nodded at him without saying a word. He had seen this boy before, although he did not How come in contact, but like McGonagall, he is a qualified Gryffindor.

"Mr. Robert," Dumbledore, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke. Although his tone was gentle, the words pierced Robert's heart like a sharp knife, "As you can see, the tomb is ready. You...don't plan to say anything. what?"

……

Flitwick stretched out his hand, put it on Mag's trembling wrist, and asked softly, "Are you... don't you plan to say something?"

"There's nothing to say," Mag pursed her lips, closed her red eyes tightly, and murmured, "I'm not qualified to forgive her for them. As a daughter, I don't know what to say... She doesn't even have a bone left." , I can only bury these objects in the soil in a fake way, just like the lies she wove - a Scottish Highlands where there is no discrimination and fun..."

"Minerva..." Flitwick worriedly tightened his grip on McGonagall's wrist.

"What she cared about the most during her lifetime was nothing but her father."

……

"I should give her a ride. I'm at least a priest."

Robert put his hands on the ground and stood up tremblingly. His right hand had an uncontrollable spasm. It had only been a few days, and he was already so old.

"Father!" His elder son uttered the softest voice with the greatest strength, holding his father's arm, "Mom is a witch!"

"Maybe God doesn't approve of her," the old man pursed his lips, pushed away his little son who was supporting him, and staggered towards Meg, "but she is my lover, and I am God's servant, but Isa s husband!"

Mag stared blankly at Robert who stepped onto the ground of the cemetery. From his first step, bright and brilliant heather grew from under his feet, and smudged around with his steps, and a large piece of purple rippling in the original On the bare ground, he felt the soft touch under his feet, closed his eyes tightly, and a line of muddy tears flowed from the corners of his eyes.

……

"You said if I died suddenly, would you find another wife?"

My thoughts drifted back to one night just after Mag was born. At three o’clock in the morning, the couple were woken up by their daughter’s crying. Isabel got up from the bed in her single clothes, and ran to Mag’s crib with bare feet. He quickly solved the common problems of the baby, trotted back to his husband's arms like an elf, and asked a heavyweight question as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Uh..." Robert was not as smooth-talking as most handsome men in the world, he was born with a stupid mouth, and when he heard this sentence, he didn't know what to say for a while.

"You're hesitating!" Isabel, like most women who just gave birth, likes to think wildly. She pinched her husband's belly and complained loudly, but thinking of Mag who just fell asleep, she lowered her voice again, "You You really thought about it!"

"Uh..." Robert racked his brains, trying to retrieve a sentence to fool his wife from his poor "social vocabulary", but unfortunately, this kind of vocabulary does not exist at all. It wasn't until Isabel lost her anger that she said, "You won't die."

"Haha, you are so stupid," Isabel smiled and scratched his nose, leaned against his chest, felt her husband's strong but not so uniform heartbeat, and whispered, "Even if you look for it, you must find a pair of Miller. Good girl."

"There won't be such a day." Robert didn't know what to say, he could only hug his wife tightly.

"Easy, gentle..." Isabel felt warm at first, but soon began to beat her husband's chest, "You're strangling me to death!"

After another burst of apologies, Isabelle calmed down.

"If I really die," she hadn't revealed her heart to her husband at that time, and the two had just eloped here. Robert didn't know about the secrecy law and the wizarding world she was worried about, as if after confessing. As usual, Isabel said softly, "At that time, if our child is still young, you don't have to think about me. The child's childhood cannot be without a mother. Then you will bury me in the cemetery behind the church and let me go every day. To be able to see her during the week of worship, to see her grow up..."

"There are no believers in that cemetery..." Robert shook his head helplessly. He was even criticized by the district bishop for this. "You will be very lonely."

"But even if I stay with 1 people, I'm still lonely without you."

Robert felt a sore nose, looked down, and saw the crescent-shaped eyes on the young Isabel's face.

"If only I could garden, no, if only I could do magic!" Isabel pinched her face with one hand, and tore Robert's face into various shapes with the other, whispering, "There is no one in that cemetery." It’s good to live, just me and you, I’ll plant heather there, just like the wedding with just the two of us..."

……

Thinking of this, tears crawled all over Robert's aging cheeks. He felt the bitter taste of blood like tears, and felt that his chest was empty, as if a piece was missing, and the missing piece was filled with tears before his eyes. It is filled with different colors, just like Isabelle's unusual purple wedding dress, its long veil dragged on the grass, and the border was hidden in the petals of heather, as if covering the whole world.

For this pair of Bi people who have left everything behind, who is not whose world?

His eyes were covered with tears, and he couldn't see the way ahead. He just walked forward, but the soft touch under his feet made him feel extremely at ease. Many years ago, Isabel prepared such a beautiful gift for him.

Under everyone's gaze, he slowly came to Mag and held his daughter's hand. Flitwick left quickly with small steps, carrying the shovel and pickaxe, leaving the final farewell to the parents. female.

At the funeral, Robert did not sing poetry as required by the rules. He murmured affectionately a melody from his hometown, and the elopement couple in the lyrics seemed to be singing himself.

In the end, he took the wooden box from Mag, stroked the flowers on the lid, opened it carefully, and took out the source of all misfortunes—an old magic wand. His feet softened and he knelt on the ground .

Robert McGonagall, a loyal pastor of the Presbyterian Church, knelt on the high ground covered with broom heather, the hem of his white priest robe was dyed a gradual purple-blue color by the juice squeezed out of the crushed flowers, his bony and crooked His back couldn't even withstand the howling cold wind, his body was trembling, and he almost staggered to the ground,
He grasped the crooked pastoral staff issued by the church with both hands, and pressed the weight of his whole body on this fragile wood. The soles of his shoes kept slipping on the rough sand and stones. He stood up again and again, and fell again and again. The sharp gravel was pierced, the old dark red blood was mixed with the dye from the petals, and a cluster of delicate flowers bloomed on the hem of his pastor's robe, which was no different from the flowers he witnessed with Isabel back then.

Almost everyone watched this scene worriedly. No one dared to step forward to help the Muggle who was out of tune with them. Even Mag, who was close by, couldn't stretch out the hand to support his father. The tide or the city walls keep everyone out.

He raised Isabel's wand high, swung it down vigorously, and waved his arm like a madman. The people present were half worried and half looking forward to what might happen next.

But the imaginable scene didn’t happen, no matter how Robert waved his wand, it didn’t respond in the slightest. He cursed magic, life, fate, the secular world, and even God!Robert, who has been modest all his life, does not know how to swear, and those few insults that are not even called swear words are poured back and forth like the wheels of a cart. His scolding voice quickly turns from anger to mournful, but in the end it is overshadowed by more intense sadness .

The scolding stopped abruptly, and Robert put his head on the ground, like a hesitant turtle, and like a nervous shrimp.

Time passed by, and Robert remained motionless until the rain stopped.

Everyone was afraid that Mag would lose his father again on the day when he bid farewell to his mother, so they all stayed in place like a stake, not daring to speak or move.

Suddenly, Nelson subconsciously flashed to the side. Behind him, the blushing elder son rushed towards him with clenched fists, but he didn't expect him to dodge as if he could predict the future. He fell forward on his arms.

Nelson reached out, grabbed the boy by the collar, and carried him back.

"Your mother must not want to see you like this."

Nelson tugged at his collar, pulled his face in front of her, stared into those angry and empty eyes, and said softly, "You know what? She turned her into a ghost, It’s all about making you live like a human being.”

(End of this chapter)