Chapter 138

The sky outside was already as dark as ink.

In a spacious, beautiful circular room, various silver utensils were placed, and beside the silver utensils, there was a blackened kettle still bubbling.

The walls here were covered with portraits of past old headmasters; although they were usually dozing in their respective frames, today, a lady with long silver curly hair in the center couldn't help but speak:

"Headmaster Albus, you are too cautious... you both knocked down the sword and placed the letter in his hand,

but my anxious sir, anyone can see that he is a pure and kind child."

Buliduo sat in an armchair, his deep blue eyes distant and unfocused; the water in the kettle boiled and calmed, calmed and boiled again.

Not until a raven crossed the sky did Buliduo slowly look up.

"That is the problem, Headmistress Dai Lisi Derwent. There has never been a trace of hatred in his eyes; you and I should both know how rare this purity is.

A wizard's subconscious reaction cannot be controlled, even in those precocious and intelligent children... if a child who can clearly separate right from wrong, maintain rationality in urgent and oppressive situations, and always see kindness through the appearance of anger, meanness, and paranoia cannot be called pure, then purity becomes empty talk.

But we... how should we face this purity? How much light cannot fill a festering heart, and how many weak candlelight flames can support a child through a long road... he has been loved, that is a love that expels all ugliness and resentment; I thought I would never see such great love again.

It is love that makes people determined and self-restrained; we all know that not caring is too easy, and only those with character and courage dare to care about everything the world gives...

Compared to wizards, magical creatures have always been more sensitive; a little bit of malice will make them shrink back. But that child has always been surrounded; don't you understand yet? Dear Headmistress Dai Lisi Derwent, this love must have disappeared, because only dead love can stretch out such tenderness.

There are too many lessons telling us what is wrong; yes, for such a child who has lost all reliance and is determined to rely on himself, and the amazing talent he shows, I can only think of the lesson fifty years ago that made me regret so much.

We should know that such children are determined and also unsettling. Because that dead love took him away from the world, I dare not imagine what kind of foothold he still has in this world? He doesn't resent, which doesn't mean he isn't disappointed; he doesn't get angry, which doesn't mean he doesn't have pent-up feelings. When the residual love disappears, when he is strong enough, what else will he care about?

We should first be kind, which is especially important, and then upright. I dare not be arrogant enough to guide and correct the life of a child who possesses both talent and kindness; the arrogance on this point has already taught me a painful lesson, but what should we do? Dear Headmistress Dai Lisi Derwent? Are we going to let this child face the cold and hard world alone, silently chewing everything and swallowing it into his stomach, and then gradually lose love?

If there is still an answer to this, it is to leave everything to the greatest magic. The greatest, most mysterious, and most profound love will truly bring him into this world. It is love that can reach an almost closed heart in a gentle way, making it willing to open up to the world again. All we have to do is use enough patience and kindness to shake that cautious soul.

And only with such great magic can he find his own place and still be willing—in a gentle way—to live in it."

Hogwarts' weekend has laziness and tension, because the young wizards who have played happily for two days have to sadly face their homework.

And for those young wizards who finished their homework early, they can appreciate interesting events besides the beautiful scenery of the castle, such as two young wizards fighting over a set of notes.

However, Xiang Xien did not observe these; for the whole morning of Sunday, he was reading "Standard Book of Spells: Grade 6" and looking for Professor Fuliwei.

But the final result was unsatisfactory; the professor seemed to have gone out.

Passing by a portrait, the Fat Lady kindly came over to tell Xiang Xien that Professor Fuliwei was probably already too drunk to walk at the Three Broomsticks.

So time flew by and it was Monday.

Xiang Xien's first Spell class in the morning, Ravenclaw was with Gryffindor.

On the pile of books between the seats on both sides, Professor Fuliwei waved his wand, making Nawei's toad fly around the classroom.

The excitement of the young wizards was ignited on the spot, and they were also divided into pairs by the professor to practice.

"Pronouncing the spell correctly is very important—don't forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 'f' instead of 's' and found himself lying on the floor with a buffalo standing on his chest..."

Professor Fuliwei's voice spread in the classroom for quite a while.

But even with the professor's explanation, it was still not easy to do.

Seamus flicked and swished, flicked and swished, doing it over and over again, but the feather that should have been sent into the air by him still lay motionless on the floor.

Seamus, in a fit of anger, poked the feather with his wand, and the feather caught fire—fortunately, Sean, who was on the side, took the time to extinguish the fire with Aguamenti.

Suddenly—

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

A feather floated up tremblingly.

"Cool—"

When everyone cast their eyes over, they widened their eyes.

"Longbottom?!"

"Is that Longbottom?"

"My god!"

Nawei listened to the whispers around him, his face turning particularly red.

"Oh, well done!"

Professor Fuliwei clapped his hands and shouted,

"Everyone look, Mr. Longbottom succeeded! I want to add three points to Gryffindor!"

So Nawei's face turned even redder, and even his hands were trembling.

Before class ended.

Professor Fuliwei called Nawei over; before he could speak, Nawei tremblingly said everything:

"It was Mr. Green who taught me, Professor, the notes, yes, the notes... if it weren't for Mr. Green, I wouldn't have learned anything... it was all Mr. Green..."

He finished speaking tremblingly, and then saw Professor Fuliwei, as if he had heard something particularly worth being happy about, took the notebook, and at the same time his beard curled up:

"Of course, of course, Mr. Green is certainly a wizard with great talent, but—"

The professor gently patted the shoulder of Mr. Longbottom who was crouching down,

"Mr. Longbottom, you are not bad at all."