novelraw Chapter 1341 The Lost Child
Chapter 1341 The Lost Child
As the snow began to melt, the corridors of Hogwarts became damp.
Hermione has been counting down the days since the morning Vincent revealed his plan.
For the next three days, she acted as usual, only occasionally glancing at the Slytherin table.
Draco had become even more silent, rarely lingering in public, coming and going in a hurry, like a ghost ready to vanish at any moment.
His eyes kept drifting towards the North Tower, and Hermione knew he wouldn't last much longer.
On the evening of the third day, during dinner time, the auditorium was as lively as ever.
Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, slowly cutting the pork chop on her plate, and unconsciously glanced up at the staff table.
Professor Trelawney sat in a corner near the edge, with a glass of sherry in front of her—not a special one, but just a regular table wine.
She absentmindedly poked at the vegetables in her plate, occasionally looking up at the ceiling as if communicating with some unseen entity.
Hermione looked away and savored the golden, crispy fried pork chop on her plate.
The elves' cooking skills are getting better and better; the taste is almost comparable to that of Chef Gordon Ramsay at Eggplant Restaurant.
She took a sip of pumpkin juice and, as was her habit, glanced back at the Slytherin table.
The seat was empty, the plates were clean, and the pumpkin juice hadn't been poured, but no one was there.
Hermione continued to nonchalantly cut off a small piece of fried pork chop, and while Lavender and Parvati weren't looking, she quietly reached under the tablecloth and opened the new Marauder's Map to take a look.
Draco was moving, not in the dungeon, but up the castle staircase.
Hermione took a deep breath, sent Vincent a text message, and continued to enjoy her dinner as if nothing had happened, but her eyes remained fixed on the staff table.
After she finished the last bite of dessert, Trelawney finally put down her knife and fork, stood up unsteadily, and walked toward the side door.
“I’m full.” Hermione stood up calmly. “I’m going to the library. I might be back quite late.”
Lavender and Pavati nodded and continued their gossip.
Trelawney walked slowly, stopping every now and then to mutter to herself.
As she climbed the steps leading to the eighth floor, Hermione, who had been following behind her, suddenly quickened her pace and blocked her way at just the right moment.
"Professor Trelawney."
She stopped and looked at Hermione through those exaggerated glasses, her expression somewhat surprised.
“Miss Granger?” Her voice was elusive, carrying a hint of reserved aloofness. “How rare. I remember you… you were that outstanding student who only attended one school year before dropping out of divination class, weren’t you?”
“Professor,” Hermione said, bowing her head and trying to make her expression appear more sincere, “I’ve been having a very strange dream lately, for several days in a row. The same fog, the same crystal ball, and a silver unicorn. I really can’t figure it out, so…”
She looked up, her amber eyes fixed on Trelawney, her voice softening: "I know it was my loss to give up the divination class, but if you'd like... could you help me interpret this dream?"
Trelawney's expression changed visibly.
From reserve to surprise, from surprise to triumph, and from triumph to elation.
“Ah—” she drawled, “Of course, Miss Granger, come, let’s go to my office. It’s perfect for interpreting dreams.”
Hermione shook her head. "Professor, I want to finish the deciphering as soon as possible. I know there's an empty classroom on the 7th floor. Shall we go there?"
Trelawney didn't think much of it. "Okay, darling, lead the way."
At the same time, a window on the eighth floor leading to the North Tower opened automatically inexplicably.
Vincent barged in, or rather, he accidentally wandered into the castle while taking a walk... well, he stumbled in through the window.
He put on the white imposter mask, and his appearance and clothes were immediately projected onto Trelawney's likeness.
He's a bit tall, but given Malfoy's current condition, it shouldn't be noticeable.
Vincent knew the kid was nearby waiting for his chance, so he deliberately walked slowly, stopping every now and then to stare out the window, pretending something was attracting his attention.
About five minutes, maybe ten, he finally strolled leisurely into Trelawney's office.
As he pushed open the door, the aroma of incense wafted out, and his gaze fell on the low table, where the bronze bottle of sherry with its gold-embossed label stood quietly.
He walked over, picked up the bottle, deftly uncorked it, and smelled the contents.
Truth serum is colorless and odorless; he could only smell the fresh, delicate aroma of sherry.
He wasn't in a hurry to drink; instead, he pretended to examine the bottle, but was actually looking for a glass.
Soon, he found a row of oddly shaped, increasingly abstract goblets.
He walked over with the wine, took a fairly normal star-shaped stemmed glass, and poured the specially made sherry into it.
It's very sweet on the palate and has a rich aroma; it truly lives up to its reputation as a Malfoy selection.
After taking a small sip, Vincent, still savoring the wine, slowly sat down in the colorful chair that Trelawney often sat in.
One cup, two cups, three cups...
The short knock on the door came almost after we'd finished a bottle of wine.
"Come in."
It was Draco. His thin cheeks were somewhat sunken, his skin was as pale as paper, and his eyes no longer held the arrogance they once had.
“Professor Trelawney.” His voice trembled, clearly nervous.
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Vincent didn't respond immediately. He mimicked Trelawney's dazed look, turning his head extremely slowly and speaking in a tone so faint it seemed to dissipate into the air:
"Who...who is there? Is it a messenger sent by fate? Or...a lost soul?"
Draco stood frozen in place.
"Professor, it's me, Draco Malfoy."
His voice trembled even more, "I...I want to ask you a question, it's about...a prophecy."
“Prophecy—” Vincent drawled, looking at him with empty eyes, “Prophecy is a whisper in the wind, a reflection on the water, a secret murmured in the ear of the goddess of fate—what do you want to know, lost child?”
Draco's forehead beaded with cold sweat. "The complete prophecy... Professor, the prophecy about the Dark Lord and Harry Potter."
“Ah—” Vincent drawled, “That prophecy… the Dark Lord and the Savior, the intertwining of light and darkness, what a beautiful scene…”
Draco's face turned even paler, and his thin body trembled slightly, as if he were questioning the meaning of life.
It must be an insufficient dosage. This woman is acting strangely all the time, either drinking or on her way to drink. She probably has a high tolerance to the drug.
If she had just a couple more drops, she definitely wouldn't be rambling on like this.
Seeing Draco on the verge of a breakdown, a satisfied Vincent decided to stop teasing him.
“Listen carefully to the full text of that prophecy, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco's eyes widened suddenly, a moment of confusion and terror flashing across his face.
Why did the "Trillauni" in front of him suddenly change her tone? It was low and steady, and he felt that it was very similar to someone.
Draco didn't have time to think, because the voice began.
"The one with the power to conquer the Dark Lord is approaching... Born into a family that has defeated the Dark Lord three times... Born at the end of the seventh month... The Dark Lord will mark him as his formidable rival, but he will possess power that the Dark Lord does not understand... One of them must die at the hands of the other, because neither can live; only one can survive..."
The complete prophecy, word for word.
Draco stood there, listening blankly, as if frozen in place by a spell.
After Vincent finished speaking, the room fell into a deathly silence.
Draco moved his lips, as if he wanted to say something.
Finally, he turned around abruptly and almost staggered out of the room.
The hurried footsteps grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared completely. Vincent, who had been sitting, twisted his neck, stood up, and began to clean up the mess.
He carefully put away the star-shaped wine glass, smoothed out the cushions on the chair, and put the crystal ball by the window, which he had accidentally knocked askew, back to its original angle.
……
……