Hogwarts Lion Girl

The leftovers and the messy tableware.

Professor Slughorn's dining table was filled with the sweet aroma of mead and the aftertaste of roasted meat.

The guests gradually dispersed, and the noise of clinking glasses was gradually replaced by the tranquility of the night.

Harry successfully stayed there by using the excuse of asking Professor Slughorn for advice on potions.

"Professor," Harry said in a low voice after the others had gone away, "I want to ask you something about... about Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" Professor Slughorn's rosy face faded in an instant, turning as pale as the remaining lamb chops on his plate.

"My child, why are you asking about him suddenly?" His fat body trembled slightly and the wine glass in his hand almost slipped.

"There are things...I have to find out." Harry's eyes were firm, with a hint of caution that Professor Slughorn had never seen on his face before.

Professor Slughorn took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself.

"Tom Riddle," he said in a voice that was almost a whisper, "a very... very gifted student. Yes, very gifted."

He repeated this sentence, as if to convince himself, or to avoid Harry's questioning.

"Is it just talent?" Harry pressed on. "Did he...did he behave...unusually when he was in school? Or, did he come into contact with any...special magic?"

Professor Slughorn's breathing became rapid, his thick chin trembled, and his eyes wandered, finally falling on the dying flames in the fireplace.

"Abnormal? No, not really. He's just... an excellent student, that's all."

Harry was about to ask more, but was rudely interrupted by Professor Slughorn.

"Enough, Harry! These are all things of the past, don't mention them again!" He stood up suddenly, and his fat body blocked Harry's sight like a small mountain.

"I'm tired and need to rest. You should go back early too."

Harry knew that Professor Slughorn was deliberately hiding something.

But he couldn't force him to speak at this moment, so he could only get up and say goodbye helplessly.

When they reached the corridor, a chill hit Harry and he shivered.

He looked up at the dark night sky, which was dotted with stars, but they could not dispel the gloom in his heart.

He knew that the secret about Voldemort was far more complicated than he had imagined.

At the corner of the stairs high up, Salina quietly watched Harry's back as he walked away, her long black hair shining softly under the dim light.

Harry is already growing up, and he is the most important and crucial link in dealing with Voldemort, so Salina tries not to interfere with what he needs to go through.

The notes of the "Half-Blood Prince" helped him improve his magic rapidly, and the experience of forming the "Dumbledore's Army" taught him how to be a leader.

The living godfather Sirius can make up for his missing fatherly love, and the friendship between Ron and Hermione can make his character less extreme.

Sharina hopes that in the final battle, Harry can become better and stronger.

……

The gloomy sky hung low, like a huge dusty tablecloth that could fall down at any time and shroud Hogwarts in darkness.

The howling cold wind outside the window blew up the yellow fallen leaves, making a harsh whimpering sound, as if foreshadowing an impending storm.

The noise from the Gryffindor table seemed to be wrapped in a thin film, buzzing into Ron's ears.

He chewed the sausages on the plate mechanically, but the food tasted bland.

Ron clenched the spoon tightly, his knuckles turned white and his palms were covered with cold sweat.

He felt as if there were a group of Nifflers digging frantically in his stomach, stirring his internal organs upside down.

The Quidditch match was about to begin, and he, the Gryffindor keeper, was as stiff as a troll under a leg-locking curse.

Fear was like a cold spider, crawling slowly in his stomach, spitting out disgusting silk threads that tightly bound all his courage and confidence.

He knew he would fail. The premonition was so strong that it seemed like a prophecy written on parchment.

He would let the team down, would become the laughing stock of Gryffindor, and even more, he would bring shame upon his brothers.

Thinking of this, Ron took a big gulp of pumpkin juice, but the bitter taste did not relieve his inner anxiety at all.

"Are you okay, Ron?" Harry's concerned voice came from the side, interrupting Ron's wandering thoughts.

Ron managed a forced smile, "It's okay, just a little... nervous."

Harry certainly understood this nervousness. Playing in a Quidditch match for the first time was indeed very stressful.

He pulled a glass bottle from his pocket, which contained some sparkling liquid.

Harry poured the liquid into Ron's cup, and Hermione beside him exclaimed softly.

"Harry, did you pour the Felicis in there?" Hermione said disapprovingly, "Such a precious thing should not be used for this kind of thing."

Ron looked at the cup belatedly, "What? Harry, you gave me the Felicis Felicis?"

Harry looked at Hermione and smiled, "Just this once, Hermione. Besides, Ron needs a little luck right now."

As he said this, he pressed the cup into Ron's hand, "Don't worry, Ron, you will win."

Ron stared blankly at the cup in his hand, forgetting his nervousness for a moment.

He raised his head and looked at Harry with gratitude, "Harry, you are really my good brother!" He raised the bottle as if to toast, and then drank it all in one gulp.

The liquid slid down his throat, and a warm current instantly surged through his body. Ron felt as if he was injected with some kind of magical power.

His heartbeat calmed down, replaced by an inexplicable excitement and confidence.

He even thought he could catch a Bludger with his bare hands!

On the way to the Quidditch field, Ron's steps were so light that he seemed to be flying.

He straightened his back, his face filled with a more confident smile than ever before.

He even began to hum a little tune, an old ballad about a brave knight and a fierce dragon.

……

The game started.

The moment Ron got on his broom and flew into the sky, he felt as if he had turned into a nimble eagle, overlooking the entire stadium.

His eyes were fixed on the incoming Quaffle, and every movement was swift and precise, as if he had predicted the Quaffle's trajectory in advance.

The chasers from the Slytherin team were known for being cunning and sly, but today they repeatedly ran into obstacles in front of Ron.

Ron was like an indestructible wall, defusing the Slytherin team's attacks time and time again.

"Ron Weasley! He blocked it! He blocked it again!" The commentator Lee Jordan's excited voice resounded throughout the stadium, and thunderous cheers broke out in the Gryffindor stands.

Ron even caught a Golden Snitch that was supposed to belong to Slytherin!

Although it was an accident because the Snitch hit him on the head, he still managed to catch it firmly!

Gryffindor wins!

Cheers, screams, and whistles intertwined into a sea of ​​joy.

Ron jumped off his broom and was lifted high into the air by his teammates.

He felt like he was dreaming, a wonderful dream.

Hermione looked at Ron and whispered to Harry beside her, "Although the result is good, I still think it's not worth it for you to use the Felicis Felicis for this kind of thing."

Harry smiled and pulled out a small bottle from his pocket, "Hermione, look."

Hermione was stunned for a moment, then suddenly realized, "You didn't put it in? Then Ron..."

Harry nodded, "Ron won by his own strength. All he lacks is confidence."

Hermione looked at Ron again, then she smiled and clapped with the people around her.