My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort Chapter 432

Even if the autumn wind is bleak, Broom Heath is still stubborn, even large areas of grassland in the Scottish Highlands have withered, but the purple meaning close to the ground is still there. They use dead grass and moss to keep warm, even if the winter is approaching, they are also struggling. It blooms just to make the dry and cracked soil less dead.

Today is not a good day. The drizzle obscured people's sight, so that the seers could not see the distance, the frustrated could not see the joy, and everyone's clothes were wet by the rain, in the autumn breeze. Feeling the coldness of the young woman in the distance in the bleak.

The small colorful church standing on the top of the hill lost its color due to the bad weather and became gray and dirty. In the backyard of the church, there is a desolate open space with weeds. This is a cemetery that every church will set up. It's just that this cemetery is too deserted. The surrounding believers don't seem to want to be buried here alone after death. This makes the eye-catching pit in the corner of the cemetery soon to be the tomb where the first deceased is buried.

McGonagall was standing by the pit in a solemn black dress, her expression hidden by the black gauze on her cheeks. She wore a pair of black gloves stained with dirt, holding a rusty shovel in an unfamiliar posture and digging numbly. Her best friend Flivy was holding a manuscript that was much taller than his own, and digging a hole with his own hands. The wizard's weak body could not support this kind of work, but Flivy, who was entrusted by his friend, was still unwilling. With the help of magic, he stopped from time to time to rest, and raised his head to look at McGonagall, which was very different from the shrewd and reliable image she usually had in school.

The rain water ran down her face and body, and a group of soaked water tightly pressed against her body, and it felt so cold as long as she glanced at it.

"It's almost there," McGonagall said suddenly.

"So shallow? Is it enough?" Flivy asked in a low voice.

"Just bury it here, she has nothing to bury..."

McGonagall shook his head, bent down, and picked up a box made of pine wood by his feet. This is wood from Isabel's hometown. The wooden box was carved with patterns of broom heather that can be seen everywhere. Many years ago, Isabel was Accepting the pursuit of the young priest in such a blooming broom heather bush, the two left everything behind, set aside for life, and escaped to another inaccessible place full of broom heather with their love that is not understood by the world. In the wilderness.

"Buried shallower, at least when there is sun, she can feel warm."

McGonagall's voice was extremely calm, but Flivy, who knew her, sighed softly, wanted to say something, but didn't say it.

Old Robert sat on the humble steps of the back door of the church, crouching his head in silence, as if he hadn't noticed that his wife's tomb was ready. His two sons were sitting next to his father, one of them looked sensible and immersed. In the sadness of losing his mother, the youngest son was still ignorant. He didn't understand what these strangers in black were doing, why his father suddenly became so old, and he didn't understand how losing a mother was to him. What does it mean? He clasped the gravel scattered on the steps with his hands boringly, and used them to pose a few lively animals.

Isabel's funeral finally came, although she didn't seem to have anything worthy of the funeral, it was this weekend.

A few invited friends stood behind the father and son. There were not many people, only five of them-Dumbledore with solemn expression, Nelson and Tom in two black suits, covering their mouths and speechless. Augusta, and Hagrid, who was as tall as a gate, but cried like a child.

They were all friends who were close to McGonagall. At first, she only invited Flivy alone, but he suggested “Don't let your mother go too lonely”, so McGonagall added so many people, she didn't want to let her When others see their own sadness, they don't want their friends to feel sad because of themselves.

Holding a black umbrella, Nelson took a step forward to shield Mr. Robert from the wind and rain for a while. His shoulders and hair were quickly wetted by the rain, but as the "culprit" that caused all this, perhaps only in this way can he Make yourself a little better.

In fact, he often asked himself if he hadn't chosen to "nosy" at the beginning, would the McGonagall family continue to live in a happy atmosphere.

The old priest raised his head and sent a reluctant smile to Nelson. He knew the truth about his wife's death and understood that if it weren't for the visit of the young man in front of him, Isabel might be able to spend his twilight years in the dream dreams he had woven by himself, but he really did. Unable to resent Nelson, his integrity did not allow him to turn a blind eye to his wife's evil deeds.

"Child," he seemed to know what Nelson was thinking when he was accustomed to confession, and said softly, "You did what you should do. What is right is right, and what is wrong is wrong."

On his left hand, the older boy raised his head and stared at Nelson's face fiercely. Nelson turned his head and looked away. He didn't say much, but just nodded at him. He had seen the boy, although he didn't. How did he come in contact, but like McGonagall, he is a qualified Gryffindor.

"Mr. Robert," Dumbledore, who had not spoken, finally spoke. Although his words were soft, the words stuck in Robert's heart like a sharp blade, "As you can see, the tomb is ready. You... don't plan to say something. What is it?"

Flivy stretched out his hand, put it on McGonagall's trembling wrist, and asked softly: "You... don't plan to say something?"

"There is nothing to say," McGonagall murmured, pursing his lips, closing his red eyes tightly, "I have no right to forgive her for them. As a daughter, I don't know what to say... She even has no bones left. , Can only pretend to bury these objects in the ground in the ground, just like the lies she wove-a non-discriminatory, happy Scottish Highland..."

"Minerva..." Flivy increased her strength anxiously, squeezing McGonagall's wrist.

"The thing she cared about most during her lifetime was nothing but her father."

"I should give her a ride, I am at least a pastor."

Robert put his hands on the ground and stood up tremblingly, his right hand had uncontrolled spasms, and it was only a few days before he was so old.

"Dad!" His eldest son made the softest sound with the greatest strength, and held his father's arm, "Mom is a witch!"

"Maybe God doesn't approve of her," the old man pursed his lips, pushed his little son away, and walked to McGonagall staggeringly, "but she is my lover, I am God's servant, but Isha s husband!"

McGonagall stared at Robert who stepped on the ground of the cemetery. From the first step he set foot on, the bright and brilliant broom heather grew from under his feet. With his footsteps, it smeared around, and large patches of purple-red rippling in the original. On the bare ground, he felt the soft touch under his feet, closed his eyes tightly, and a line of turbid tears flowed from the corners of his eyes.

"You said if I died suddenly, would you find the next wife?"

Thoughts floated back to one night after McGonagall was just born. At three o'clock in the morning, the couple was awakened by the cry of their daughter. Isabel got up from the bed in single clothes and trot barefoot to McGonagall's crib with quick movements. He solved the common problems of babies, trot back into her husband's arms like an elf, and asked a heavyweight question as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Uh..." Robert didn't talk like most handsome men in the world. He had a stupid mouth. When he heard this, he didn't know how to say it for a while.

"You hesitated!" Like most women who have just given birth to a child, Isabel likes thinking and thinking. She pinched her husband's belly and complained loudly, but she lowered her voice when she thought of McGonagall who had just coaxed her to sleep, "You Actually really considered this issue!"

"Uh..." Robert used his brains to retrieve a sentence that fooled his wife from his poor and poor "social vocabulary", but it was a pity that this kind of vocabulary did not exist at all. He grinds for a long time and even mumbles. When Isabel died out, she said, "You won't die."

"Haha, you're so stupid," Isabel smiled and scraped his nose, leaning on his chest, feeling her husband's powerful but uneven heartbeat, whispered, "Even if you look for it, find a right Miller What a good woman."

"It won't happen that day." Robert didn't know what to say, so he could only hug his wife.

"Take it lightly..." Isabel felt warm at first, but soon began to beat her husband on the chest, "You will strangle me to death!"

It was another apology before Isabel stopped.

"If I really die," she hadn't shown her heart to her husband at the time. The two of them just eloped here. Robert didn't know about the secrecy laws and the wizarding world she worried about, as if after confessing. In general, Isabel said softly, "At that time, if our child was still young, you should not consider me. The child's childhood could not live without a mother. Then you would bury me in the cemetery behind the church and let me be there every time. I can see her during the week and see her grow up..."

"There are no believers in that cemetery..." Robert shook his head helplessly. He was even criticized by the district bishop for this, "You will be very lonely."

"But even if I stay with 10,000 people, I would still be lonely without you."

Robert felt his nose sore, lowered his head, and saw the pair of crescent-like eyes on the young Isabel's face.

"If I can garden, no, I would be good if I can magic!" Isabel pinched her face with one hand and pulled Robert's face into various shapes with the other, whispered, "There is no one in that cemetery. It's good to live. It's only you and I. I will grow broom heathers there, just like the wedding where we were alone..."

Thinking of this, tears crawled over Robert's aging cheeks. He felt the bitter taste of the tears like blood. He only felt that his chest was empty, as if there was a missing piece, but the missing piece was filled with tears in front of him. The color is filled up, just like the alternative, purple wedding dress that Isabel wore back then. Its long yarn is dragged on the grass, and the border is hidden in the petals of the heather, as if it has covered the whole world.

For this wall man who has left everything behind, who is not whose world?

His eyes were covered with tears, he couldn't see the way forward, he just walked forward, but the soft touch under his feet made him feel extremely relieved. Many years ago, Isabel prepared such a beautiful gift for him.

Under everyone's gaze, he slowly came to McGonagall and held his daughter's hand. Flivy took the shovel and the manuscript and left quickly with small steps, leaving the final farewell to the father and daughter. .

During the funeral, Robert did not sing the poems as required by the rules. He murmured affectionately a melody from his hometown, and the pair of lovers who eloped in the lyrics seemed to sing himself.

In the end, he took the wooden box from McGonagall's hand, stroked the flower on the lid, carefully opened it, and took out the source of all misfortune-an old magic wand. He knelt on the ground with a soft foot. .

Robert McGonagall, the loyal pastor of the Presbyterian Church, knelt on the high ground full of broom-heath. The hem of the white pastor's robe was dyed into a gradual purple-blue color by the juice of the crushed flowers. His back couldn't even withstand the howling of the cold wind, his body was trembling, almost lying on the ground.

He clenched the crooked shepherd staff allotted by the church with both hands and pressed the weight of his whole body on the fragile wood. The soles of his shoes kept slipping on the rough sand, standing up again and again, falling down again and again, his knees were The sharp gravel pierced, the old dark red blood mixed with the dye from the petals, and a cluster of delicate flowers bloomed under the robes of his priest, just like the flowers he and Isabel witnessed back then.

Almost everyone watched this scene worryingly. No one dared to step forward to help the Muggle that was out of place with them. Even McGonagall, who was close by his side, could not stretch out the hand that supported his father. The surging sadness was like The tide or the city wall keeps everyone out.

He lifted Isabel's wand high, swung it down vigorously, and waved his arm like a madman. The people present were half worried and half anticipating what might happen next.

The imaginable scene did not happen. No matter how Robert waved his wand, it did not react at all. He cursed magic, cursed life, cursed destiny, cursed the world, and even cursed God! A humble Robert would not swear, those insults that could not even be called swear words were turned upside down like a chariot. His screams quickly changed from anger to stern, but eventually they were covered by heavier sadness. .

The curse stopped abruptly, and Robert pressed his head against the ground, like a hesitating turtle and a nervous shrimp.

Time passed by ~www.mtlnovel.com~ Robert remained motionless until the rain stopped.

People are afraid that McGonagall will lose his father again on the day when he bids farewell to his mother.

Suddenly, Nelson flashed to the side subconsciously. Behind him, the flushed eldest son clenched his fists and rushed towards him, but he did not expect that he would dodge as if he could predict the future, stepping on the empty steps, losing the center of gravity, and waving. Throwing his arm forward.

Nelson stretched out his hand, grabbed the boy by the collar, and carried him back.

"Your mother definitely doesn't want to see you like this."

Nelson pulled his collar, pulled his face in front of him, stared at those angry and hollow eyes, and said softly, "You know what? She turned her into a ghost, It's all for you to live like a person."

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Chapter end