Chapter 116: Mother

The team members left slowly, Ron and Hermione leaned against Harry's bed, offering quiet words of comfort; Harry asked about his broom and learned it had crashed into the Whomping Willow and shattered, leaving him instantly despondent.

Neville came over, claiming he'd discovered something fascinating, deliberately weaving a mysterious air to divert Harry's attention.

Zhang Qiu seemed guilty, for "defeated under the influence of a monster" was plainly written in the divination result, yet she chose not to intervene, merely watching in silence.

Harry turned to comfort her, saying it wasn't her fault—if not for the divination, no one could have foreseen it.

After everyone had left, Dumbledore entered.

"Harry, are you all right?" he asked with concern.

"I'm fine, Professor," Harry said. "The Dementors affected me deeply—I think it's because I've experienced horrors no ordinary person has."

"Yes, you're a strong child," Dumbledore said gently, gazing at him.

"Today, under the Dementors' influence, I remembered some details," Harry struggled to sit up, speaking with effort. "Professor, I need you to tell me honestly—how exactly was Voldemort defeated?"

"Your mother's love for you—a great love—was a magic Voldemort never understood," Dumbledore whispered. "He didn't comprehend that power."

"But millions died at Voldemort's hands, yet only my mother defeated him," Harry stared directly into Dumbledore's eyes. "Is love the only thing? Or was sacrifice also required?"

"Precisely," Dumbledore admitted. "Sacrificing oneself for love is the most powerful magic—its strength surpassed Voldemort's imagination."

"Then, if Voldemort had intended to kill my mother from the start, would the magic still have worked?"

"I cannot be certain, but perhaps it would not have," Dumbledore shook his head. "You must have recalled details from that night."

"Yes—I noticed something. When Voldemort tried to kill me, he said, 'Stand aside, foolish girl.' He never meant to kill my mother, did he?"

Dumbledore said nothing.

"But everyone knows my mother was a Muggle-born—Sir Crookshanks's family tree records it clearly," Harry fixed his gaze on Dumbledore, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Why didn't he intend to kill her?"

"I think this question is best left for you to explore," Dumbledore replied evasively.

"I met one of her old classmates in Hogsmeade," Harry continued. "He told me Professor Snape once loved my mother."

"You could have told me," Harry lay back down, staring fixedly at the ceiling.

"If you already knew," Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Snape pleaded with Voldemort on your mother's behalf—he was a powerful Death Eater then, and Voldemort granted him this one mercy."

"After your mother's sacrifice, Snape turned against Voldemort," Dumbledore continued. "I don't know how to judge him—he chooses every side based on his own perspective, selfishly making his decisions. But you can trust him, because your eyes resemble your mother's so closely—they made him swear to protect those olive-colored eyes."

"Yet it also torments him, stirring painful memories," Dumbledore carefully added. "He wishes only to protect you quietly from the shadows—that is enough."

"I understand. I suspected as much," Harry murmured. "Thank you, Professor."

After Dumbledore left, Harry lay silently on the bed. "Every choice of allegiance stems from one's own perspective"—those words stung him. Had Snape not been relentlessly bullied by the Marauders, why would he have clung to the Death Eaters for warmth? He once had friends—at least Carlan and Lily—but clearly Carlan had been terrified by the Marauders, and Lily…

Ivy had once said Hermione "studied while scheming to seduce pure-blood boys." Though Harry had scoffed at the claim then, now he could only force himself not to think of it.

Even as a Death Eater, Snape still begged Voldemort to spare his mother. What else could he do? The Death Eaters were the only group that accepted him, and Voldemort had granted his plea. After all, Voldemort was human—he trusted Snape, so he called his mother "foolish girl," believing Snape far superior to his own father.

Harry let out a long sigh. The dead were gone; all he could do now was live well. Voldemort must die—he would never forget this blood feud. He would also remember the insults his father's generation had heaped upon Snape, and repay the taciturn Potions professor in his own way.

At least, he thought optimistically, Professor Snape was now on his side—they could fight Voldemort together.

And Dumbledore was merely a wizard partial to Gryffindor, Harry reminded himself—he was no saint, nor infallible.

I can adopt a more flexible strategy—unite more allies, try to turn Death Eaters, or seek help from the Ministry, instead of fixating solely on Gryffindor's base. Harry began again to obsess over the fight against Voldemort—but who could know what schemes he was now plotting?

As Harry drifted in thought, his friends from Torchwood came to visit. Though Malfoy's smile remained as false as ever, he at least carried the formality to its extreme—everyone held a flower.

"Harry, I'm sorry to hear of your accident during the match," Malfoy began. "But under such weather, it wasn't your fault."

"At least your injuries aren't serious—that's the only blessing," Pan Xi placed her flower by the bed.

"Rest well, Harry," Cui Ge smiled, patting his hand.

"You did well—don't worry," Luna adjusted his blanket.

"I was terrified—they shouldn't have played in this weather," Ginny said, voice trembling with tears.

"Dumbledore has expelled all the Dementors—you can rest easy," Ivy's eyes were red.

"I'll miss you," Crabbe said.

"You'll always live in our hearts," Goyle scratched his head.

"Why are you acting like I'm dying?" Harry laughed bitterly. "Madam Pomfrey said I can be discharged tomorrow."

"Wait—who started this?" Crabbe grumbled.

"I'm sure it was Malfoy—he was the first to say 'sorry,'" Luna blinked.

"Ahem, well, actually, we have something more important to discuss with you," Malfoy said. "A conclusion we just reached."

"What?" Harry looked at him curiously.

"The Dementors entered the school—or more precisely, the pitch—because they sensed Black's scent," Malfoy said. "That means Black was on the pitch."

"We believe Black intended to harm you on the pitch, but the Dementors arrived, forcing him to flee," Pan Xi added.

"So Black saw you fall from your broom—what does that imply?" Malfoy raised a finger. "He knows you'll come to the hospital wing."

"And Black attended this school—he knows where the hospital wing is," Pan Xi added.

"That's true," Harry grew alert. "Have you informed the professors?"

"Don't worry, child," came a voice from beneath the bed. "I'll make sure he never leaves alive."

Harry startled—he had no idea when the Auror had crawled under the bed.

"Oh, wait…" Professor Doudou whispered. "Something unusual… I've noticed it for a long time…"

As he struggled to crawl out, he whispered instructions: "Mr. Malfoy, please open the window—second one on the right… oh, for you it's left—no, right."

"The one with the pigeon outside?" Malfoy whispered back.

"Yes—that might be a bomb. But if we move quickly, we can immobilize it and cast a Tracking Charm," Doudou straightened, gripping his wand quietly. "Now, pretend you're a kind-hearted boy and open the window. Black knows Harry is in bed—he won't let the bomb explode immediately…"

Malfoy swallowed hard—he was clearly afraid, but he decided to be a hero.

In an instant, as the pigeon flew into the room, Professor Doudou cast a spell almost instantly—the bird froze mid-flight and dropped to the floor.

From the sharp sound, it was likely Petrified.

"This doesn't look like a bomb," Malfoy examined the statue—it was just an ordinary pigeon, perfectly lifelike.

"I also think it's probably not a bomb," Doudou stepped forward to inspect it closely. "But we can't be sure—who'll go fetch Professor Dumbledore?"

Pan Xi ran out and returned shortly with Dumbledore.

"Miss Parkinson says you found a suspicious creature?" Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "Is this the pigeon?"

"Yes," Malfoy puffed out his chest proudly.

"This appears to be an Animagus," Dumbledore frowned. "I happen to know how to reverse the transformation—everyone, step back."

Under Dumbledore's spell, the pigeon gradually transformed into a woman, about twenty-something, wearing a sailor uniform and pleated skirt, her features unmistakably East Asian.

"Casan!" Cui Ge cried out.