My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort ~

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Dear Miss Williams:

How are you doing?

Recently I was on a business trip in France, and I had some leisure time to visit the ancient capital of Paris with my colleagues. I passed by the door of Notre Dame Church and somehow suddenly thought of your smiling face.

I remember that you should have studied in the nun's school of this church. Walking on the road, you can sometimes see young girls holding beaded bags coming in and out of the church in groups, Yingyingyanyan, Just like stepping out of Monet's "Women in the Garden", those Venus's pitiful young faces made my colleagues dazzled. Fortunately, I was prepared. After all, After seeing Ms. Bella, there is nothing beautiful in the world that can fascinate you. I believe that even when you are studying in a girls' school, you must be the most beautiful scenery on the streets of Paris.

Paris is a beautiful city. I have been here many times. I am familiar with the scenery and customs here. I am so familiar with it that I almost lost interest. But after getting to know you, I have rekindled my curiosity about it. What kind of city can give birth to someone like you?

I chose a new silk scarf for you and I will give it to you with the letter. Haha, recalling the moment when we met that day, I was walking down the street with coffee, and you ran out of the bank waving a stub, just Like the little fairies flapping their wings in fairy tales, even though I only took a sip of that delicious dark beer, the taste is almost the same to me who has seen you. I believe that it is a gift from destiny to me. , Let me meet such a beautiful girl who is destined to be in a foreign country.

In fact, I was not what I was who was panicked that day. My colleagues and I got separated, and accidentally walked into a trail that I had never set foot in. I didn't know how to ask for directions. Only you, Miss Bella, even though I wet your clothes, but you still guided me in spite of the precautions, and even willing to accompany me to tour the city where you have set foot countless times.

I believe that you are walking on those few roads every day, and you are tired of walking, just like I am so resistant to business trips, but you must be able to see different scenery in the process of visiting with me, just like I was from that day Start

I swear that it was the happiest and easiest day in my life, so that the day after I found my colleagues, they all asked me if I was in love when they read the report I wrote.

I don't know if I fell in love. After returning home, I thought about it for a long time, and even blurted out "Do you love me?" when I was arguing with the editor-in-chief. In order to alleviate the embarrassment, he actually helped me to pass the sensitive report, which is really fortunate in misfortune).

To be honest, Miss Bella, before I went to France on a business trip, I never thought about falling in love with someone, walking with her through the bustling streets, crowded crowds, vast fields or cramped alleys, and She spends time together shopping for groceries after get off work, in the ordinary joking amidst the fumes, let her bear my last name and become a crutch for half of my body. Will I hold her hand or hold her shoulder? Will I call her dear or madam? Will I kiss her or hug her?

These sudden thoughts made me intoxicated and terrified. I thought I was a hard-hearted person. My empty heart needs a greater career to fill. I even gave up my beloved poetry and quarreled with my respected teacher. One, I abandoned the Heisenberg University degree, bid farewell to Trier, who gave birth to me and raised me, and went to one of the worst newspapers in Berlin to become a reporter at the bottom. I would be poor, hungry, criminal, Conflicts, diseases, deaths, etc., etc. they don't want to see are recorded on a piece of unnamed papyrus. I leave everything behind, because in my heart there is nothing precious in the world except for the cause that floats above my hometown. Things-at least until I met you, I thought so.

When I met you on the streets of Paris that day, I seemed to see another myself.

A woman born in the world, living in a peaceful, prosperous, and free country, well-educated, well-educated, clear governor, and beautiful at the same time, no matter what I say to you, you can always behave. Out of the side that is different from those mediocre people-all this makes me feel extremely fresh and addicted, even the experience I can't get when I interview those high-powered people.

It's like magic. Forgive me for using such an imprecise vocabulary. You are like the witch in the story, watching everyone in the world with a bird's-eye view of the world, so that during that time, as long as I close my eyes, I can remember what you said to me. Those words.

I always think that my life should be as unfettered as poetry, but I think that good poetry has some limitations, right? Just like a poet must abide by the law, not just talk about it.

For example, rhyme, such as structure, such as confrontation, such as parallelism, such as progressive emotion, such as appropriate image, such as deep situation-it needs at least branch, if a madman's nonsense and scribbling can be called Poetry, then what is the difference between a poet and a lunatic?

I think for me, love may be the benchmark that distinguishes my pen from the finger of a lunatic, just like a compass owned by a person living in a city. Maybe he can distinguish the north, south, east, and west by the arrangement of buildings and streets, but It can guide someone in a definite direction when in doubt or lost, at least it can be clear that someone is waiting for him at home.

At this moment, I am waiting in the hotel for my colleagues to return to Germany. I was too anxious to write this sentence on the back of the list. The handwriting is distorted and incoherent. I wanted to send that silk scarf to you. Forget it, but it's really hard to hold back the longing in my heart. I don't want to let this interesting encounter end hastily. I think our story has a longer future.

At the foot of the Church of Our Lady, the tall tower hangs above my head. This is where the legendary romantic story takes place. I don't dare to claim the infatuated Quasimodo. Maybe I'm more like that cowardly. The wandering poet Gran Gour, in the unaccompanied loneliness, met a beautiful gypsy girl who was willing to lend a helping hand to me-I grew up in a depressed country, and when I wandered brightly in Paris, I went wrong to a stranger. The place, that kind of loneliness envelops me, and my gray hair is out of place on the streets of Paris. Isn't it the same lost person who broke into the kingdom of beggars?

Miss Bella, I sincerely pray that I can enjoy the right to receive your reply.

sincerely yours,

Jonas Nicklaus

"So you finally wrote back to Jonas?"

Nelson asked his aunt to move the collected luggage to the wagon of the ferry company, and asked that this might be their last time in the house where he has lived for ten years.

This house made of rose-colored bricks, with geraniums on the windows, but with fewer pigeons flying over it, will be deserted from today.

"Return, if I had known that he would hold a chicken feather as an arrow, I would definitely not return him," Bella chuckled, unable to see the slightest bit of resentment, "I regret it again, Gnar, you know I am here. Is there anything written in the letter?"

"Righteously rebuked Jonas for his frivolous show of love?"

Nelson raised his eyebrows, and picked out only half of the gold glasses left by Jonas from the wooden box. The cracks on the lenses were like spider webs, which glued the love letter in Bella's mouth together to form The story of their encounter.

"What's that?" Bella squinted at the glasses in Nelson's hand, her expression lonely again, "Why should I put it in and leave it on the desk? If Jonas comes back in the future, it won't happen. I can't even see the way."

Nelson put his glasses in his pocket and turned around, pretending not to see the little gesture of his aunt wiping her tears.

After a while, when Nelson started to carry the second suitcase, Bella's voice came slowly, "I only wrote one sentence: There is no girls' school in the Church of Notre Dame."

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Nelson's fingers suddenly lost strength because of the huge smile, and the thick manuscript in his hand fell heavily on the ground. He laughed up to the sky, tears were laughed from the corner of his eyes, "Auntie, if you want me to say, you should be in him Told this joke at his funeral."

"I originally planned it like this..." Bella also smiled, "but the old priest is so nagging, I can't stand it anymore."

"It's hard not to support it."

Nelson squeezed the frame of the spectacles, held it up to his eyes, squinted one of his eyes and looked at it, aiming at the sun in the sky that was obscured by dark clouds as a sight.

"Snapped!"

He was like a kid who started throwing around when he picked up a wooden stick, pretending that he was holding a sniper rifle that could shoot the sun.

"Creative man, you are always so slick! Who would write this kind of letter to a girl who meets for the first time? Don't say anything about Quasimodo Gran Gual, I think you are the pesky, annoying, Self-righteous Phoebus!"

Bellatrix Nicklaus, in a long black dress, she seems to have not yet adapted to her status as a widow. Sitting on the rocking chair, her eyes gradually blurred. There is a strip on her wrist that has been washed many times. The color, but the silk scarf that was sewn and repaired to maintain its original shape, with a stack of yellowed old letter paper neatly stacked in her arms, the breeze brushed her cheeks, and the long hair on the temples was lifted strongly by the wind, revealing hiding. Strands of silver threads in black.

For a few days, it seemed to her that she had spent many years in her life.

"I don't know if there is a girls' school in the church of Notre Dame, but even if there is, I would never have studied there. I am an accountant, and this kind of thing is not taught in a nun's school."

Bella squinted her eyes and leaned back in her chair and muttered to herself. Her face bloomed like an old friend, wrinkles extended along the corners of her eyes, and a pair of dark eyes surrounded by aging had a light erosion. Like a trace, it seemed to be the silhouette of a man grinning.

"You are happy, because you are a foreigner and dragged me around in Paris for a whole day! But I was deducted from my wages for three days!" Bella threw the letter paper back into her arms in a huff. He straightened up quickly, smoothed the wrinkled letter paper, carefully stuffed it under the pile of letter paper, and said with a smile at the corner of her mouth, "Afterwards, Elizabeth, who came home from the holiday, asked me,'Sister, how are you? Did you know my brother-in-law?', guess how I answered her?"

Bella stared at the stack of letterheads and said angrily and with a smile, "I told her that you are a poet who avoided the German secret police. I helped you during your escape. She almost believed it, I This is not a lie to the child, I can't tell her directly, Jonas ran on the street with a beer and poured me all over, right?"

"But I'm not lying to her. Didn't you say that the dark beer was shipped from Germany? It's not too much to say that it was chasing you down!" She recalled half complaining half sweetly, "You remember I can't get up, but I still remember it very clearly... The dark beer smelled of light biscuit sweetness, oak barrel smell, pungent hops, and **** fingers cracked when I washed my clothes all night. taste."

Her pupils condensed again and looked at Nelson.

"Why do you deduct three days' wages for one day of absenteeism?" Nelson expressed his puzzlement.

"Because that bank was opened by my father, that is, your grandfather. Originally, it only deducted one day, but after hearing that I was going shopping with a foreigner, he deducted another two days." Bella was caught by herself. His memory amused, and said cheerfully, "How come there are people in the world running on the street with beer?"

"But these'secret police' were arrested... When Jonas came for the second time, he could no longer drink the dark beer from his hometown."

Bella's tone became lonely again, and the scene of the second encounter with Jonas slowly emerged in front of her eyes. Compared with the young reporter who was running wild on the street with a beer, Jonas was at a loss. A lot, I don't even have the strength to run.

"I think you need your hometown more than your hometown needs you."

The young Bella sits on the long stone steps of the Church of Our Lady. Her soft long hair is tangled into a fashionable bun, which hangs loosely behind her neck. She wears a man's shirt and suit with a capable face. , There was a pile of nailed documents and a sandwich wrapped in newspaper.

She looked at the pedestrians coming and going on the road, holding down Jonas's hand that was approaching her side: “You can't find the taste of hometown in this bottle of horse urine, Jonas, you've lost weight and haggard a lot. , You should be dissatisfied."

"Ha ha!"

Jonas bypassed Bella's obstruction and grabbed the dark brown glass bottle next to him. He was wearing a pair of dusty old khaki pants that could not see the color. The emerald green shirt also looked cheap because of improper sizing. A vest often worn by reporters is casually put on a shirt, and his beloved camera is randomly thrown on the steps beside his feet. His eye sockets are deep and thin because of his thinness, and his lonely eyes are hidden behind the reflection of the glasses. "This inferior dark beer is already the most'hometown' thing I can find, do you understand Bella, there is nothing left to export in Germany, you may not know what it means."

Bella looking

"Then what about your work?" She shook her head helplessly, patted the dust on Jonas' elbow, "I thought you were on a business trip this time..."

"They don't need me anymore. Readers smashed the door of our newspaper. My editor-in-chief refused to publish the report I wrote. He helped me get a permit to stay abroad. Some people have long been eyeing me... ...I can't go back anymore."

Jonas lowered his head, and the fine gray hair on his forehead covered his eyes, and he could only see the shaggy chin trembling imperceptibly. Squeezing the poor, but the poor can only vent their hatred to their neighbors under a foolish puppet show. My motherland is like a balloon filled with sulfur and inflating. It can only open the gate and deflate. The pressure is passed on to the outside world in a fierce way... An atmosphere of depression and terror is hanging over Germany, but there is nothing I can do, Bella."

"You should trust the judgment of the people, Jonas." Bella embraced her knees and patted the back of Jonas' trembling hand with pity. "Even an accountant like me who knows nothing about current affairs knows ours. The world needs peace more, factories need to start work, soldiers need vacations, children need to go to school, adults need jobs, the elderly need health, and families need reunion."

"If that's the case," Jonas murmured, covering his face with his hands, burying his head deeply into the bend of his legs, "Socrates will not die."

"It'll get better," Bella didn't know how to comfort him, but she patted his trembling back lightly and repeated, "It'll get better, Jonas."

"When will I get better..."

There was no answer from this long sigh that was so prestigious until the day he fell.

"Generally speaking, he made some remarks in the newspaper that the authorities didn't like to hear," Bella said softly, "so much so that they wanted to get rid of him. With the help of his friends, he fled to Paris and got some money. A legal identity and visa."

"So your previous remarks really come true?" Nelson raised his eyebrows. "Is it about the secret police?"

"Yes, my sister, your mother told me that I have some talent to be a prophet."

"I think so, after all, you said since I was a kid that I will become very handsome when I grow up."

"You look like Jonas at this point," Bella rolled her eyes. "Indeed, when people become shameless, the standards of beauty and ugliness can be set at will."

"Mirror mirror, who is the most beautiful woman in the world?" Nelson first imitated a witch with a deep voice, and then cried out, learning the voice of a fairy, "Oh! It's Bella!"

"Haha, what a good boy," Bella touched Nelson's hair and shook her head. "Your version of Snow White is not a black man, right?"

"After the copyright of the descendants of the Brothers Grimm expires, I will adapt it to a version like this."

"That will definitely not be recognized."

"Who knows?"

"Just like Jonas." Bella said suddenly. Nelson felt his scalp numb. Although he kept talking about the topic in all kinds of strange places, Bella was always able to wrap it back to her deceased husband. "When he first settled in Paris, people around him did not welcome him very much, including your grandfather. Except for Elizabeth, who had a relationship with him when he came home from the holiday, and Melgan, who came to Paris with her, the whole city was there. Repel him, but he doesn't care."

"Do you reject him?"

"I?"

"I think this is enough for Jonas."

"Huh? Gnar," Bella's expression froze, she squeezed Nelson's face vigorously, poked his forehead with her index finger, and feintly said, "The man is big, and there are grown-ups."

"It's weird that you are still running to France at this time. Have you seen the eyes of those people on the street who want to hit you with a stone?"

"You are so weird too," Jonas said affectionately, shaking her braids, "You still want to stay with me."

The two of them were still sitting on the steps of the Church of Our Lady as they were last time. Jonas even raised his hands leisurely and greeted every passerby who was glaring at him.

There was a depression in the street, and there was a big gap between him and the bustling restlessness when he came to Paris last time.

"Maybe I'm a weirdo," Bella hugged her knees and sighed into her palms. The time has entered winter, and the air will inevitably turn cold. "I'm just a little angry, obviously you are the first to say that Germany is going to fight. of."

"You can't say that, Bella, many people of insight have made similar judgments. I just relayed what they said in the newspaper." Jonas shrugged, making a helpless expression, "I am again It's not Hans Muller, and you can't force everyone to know me."

"Uh... let me interrupt, who is Hans Muller?"

"There are probably 10,000 Hans Muller in Germany," Jonas laughed. "Even if he can't do it, who can guarantee that everyone knows him?"

"Bella!"

A shout came from a distant street, Bella's colleague at the bank ran over and stopped in front of Bella.

"I have deducted my wages," Bella said with a grimace, "I don't want today's wages either."

"It's not... it's not about money," the colleague said intermittently, "Mr. Williams asked you... to make you go back. There is an urgent matter!"

"I hope you didn't lie to me," Bella stood up on the steps, "otherwise I will add a few random numbers to your ledger."

Having said that, she and Jonas nodded and said goodbye, ready to go home.

"He also invited Mr. Nicklaus."

"Me?" Jonas pointed at himself, opened his mouth wide, and said to Bella in surprise, "Is your father finally unable to suppress his anger and ready to hit me with his shotgun?"

"If you are still sitting there, I have to shoot you with a shotgun instead."

"Bella, what date is it today?"

In the office behind the bank, Nelson's grandfather, Mr. Williams, whom Nelson had never met, was dangling a cigar. His whole face collapsed. There was no emotion in his eyes, like the famous Churchill's in the future. In the photo, a trilby hat was left at random, the cigar was not lit, and Mr. Williams was spinning fast in the air like a pen.

"January 7, what's wrong?" Bella said casually, "but I only have 22 days left this month to deduct."

"January 7, 1916..."

Mr. Williams ignored the mockery in his daughter's tone. He repeated the date, reached under the desk, and squeezed out the smallest voice with great strength, "Let the German come in."

Jonas, who was called by Bella, opened the door and walked into the office. As soon as he stepped a step further, the sound of the bolt pulling sounded in his ears, and a pair of black-hole barrels directed at his forehead with the pungent smell of saltpeter. .

"Mr. Williams," he slowly raised his hands and took a step back. "I'm really not a spy."

"I ask you a question, German."

"Just ask," Jonas said, keeping his hand up, "but I have to repeat—"

"I know that you are not a spy, a German, and I can see what you do. Although you are not worthy of my daughter, at least you avoid the high probability of birth of bad people among your compatriots," Mr. Williams said with steady hands and a flat tone, "If your wife died under an enemy's attack on civilians, what would you do as a man?"

Jonas pondered for a moment, raised his head, and said, "I might choose to beat my enemy on the battlefield."

"What if you don't know who the enemy is?"

"Such attacks against civilians are generally indistinguishable, you know."

"Very well," Mr. Williams raised the muzzle of the gun and quickly pressed the trigger. There was a huge explosion in the barrel of the shotgun and the room filled with Jonas and Bella's ears, Jonas felt dizzy. It wasn't until Mr. Williams passed by him that he realized, "I thought you were just like those articles in the newspaper, you are a coward who only knows peace."

"The price of peace is not to keep kind people beaten all the time." Jonas covered his ears and shouted with a volume that he couldn't control. "Punishing the perpetrators is the end in line with justice."

"Well," Mr. Williams patted Jonas on the shoulder, and passed him, "Help me take care of my daughter, German."

"what?"

Jonas looked at the shotgun in Mr. Williams's hand. The anxiety of Bella's colleague and the strange questions Mr. Williams asked him echoed in the sonic boom. He quickly realized that. Ra's mother was probably killed in a German attack on civilians, as Mr. Williams said. He quickly turned around, and ignoring Mr. Williams's shotgun, grabbed his arm forcefully. .

"German, you also chose this way."

Mr. Williams glared at him viciously, the bloodshot eyes growing wildly like pupils, he glanced at his sluggish daughter one last time, and resolutely walked towards the old man waiting outside the bank.

"I love you, Bella."

"He kept the Somme and went with his mother in the same year."

Bella looked at the trilby in Nelson's hand with complicated eyes, stood up on the armrest, took the last small box from Nelson's hand, and neatly packed the stack of letterheads in it.

"Your grandfather's hat was sent back soon, left to Jonas, and finally to you," Bella said. "I hadn't promised his pursuit at that time, but my father had entrusted me to it. Give it to him, that's all there is to it, but to be honest, it's not bad."

"Jonas's career has also improved at this time, but for me, he still moved away from the place that would only bring people pain."

"After being far away from the mainland, his career got better, but everything about me is gone...fortunately, I have him."

"I'm just a useless accountant~www.mtlnovel.com~ the Muggle in the wizard's mouth," Bella said with tears in her eyes and wrapped her arms around Nelson's neck. "I can't teach you anything, but I think Tell you, never, never, never be the one left behind."

"aunt……"

Nelson hugged his thin aunt, who was so skinny that she could be blown away by a gust of wind.

"I'm selfish, Gnar, I want you to do what you want to do as Jonas thought, and become a carefree yourself," Bella grabbed Nelson's collar hard, crying, "but I am more like making you the same person as him, except... but when I dreamed of him last night, he scolded me harshly."

"He suggested that I send you to a girls' school at the Church of Notre Dame," Bella smiled, and put her arms around Nelson's arms harder. "He still remembers my reply."

"Jingle Bell……"

After the carriage is loaded, the groom is urging Bella to get on the carriage.

"Don't leave any regrets for yourself, Gnar."

Chapter end