Chapter 27 Cold Heart
If the little panic that Quirrell mentioned was when he rushed into the restaurant during Halloween dinner and shouted "There's a troll!", then Della felt a little disappointed.
Della felt that the expression of the young master across the table, who was so terrified that he opened his mouth and screamed, was more in line with her expectations.
This little disturbance passed quickly, but Ron later boasted to Della about how brave he was when facing the troll. Harry still looked at him helplessly, while Hermione attacked him mercilessly.
The three of them had become close friends, and Della noticed it.
Originally, as Della was apparently obsessed with her studies, she had less contact with her Gryffindor friends. Although they could still chat and joke when they met, they were not too close. Even for Gemini, the people who made people feel that there were no boundaries, their concern was mostly out of pity.
Just like the many kindnesses she came into contact with.
Perhaps there were still people here who knew her true self, and this truth was probably revealed deliberately by her. Whenever she saw Dumbledore and Malfoy, a feeling of depression would arise in Della's heart, just like the wound she had pinched open before, reminding her of her situation with the slight pain.
The practice of black magic also aggravated her psychological shadow. She did not feel guilty about the experimental subjects who died painfully because of her. It was precisely because she found that she did not have much feeling that she felt so terrible.
On demand, she denied Voldemort as her father.
In terms of temperament, she could only make a useless refusal.
A black wolf in sheep's clothing tried its best to hide its sharp teeth and blend into the flock of sheep.
In the distance, there are wolves and the calls of nature; nearby, there are lambs and the cries of conscience.
Conscience is also learned.
The more kindness she received, the more detached she felt. Della had never been afraid of gazes, but those gazes had weight. She now envied the real closeness of others, but deeply resisted those extended hands.
Life has stabilized, and cutting her arm has become a routine. She only needs to study, research, and respond to her friends with a smile, just like when she was in the small town, reading books, watching people, and accepting gifts from others with a smile.
In the end, Della still only had Maggie.
They have been with each other until now. Della respects Maggie's uniqueness, and Maggie also works hard for Della.
Only they were so tacit from beginning to end.
The poor professor who sacrificed his body obviously did not achieve his master's goal in that incident. When they met again in the room, the young man's face was paler than ever before. He pursed his lips and dared not make any more expressions.
When Voldemort taught Della in the past, this professor, who according to Della's observation was also a very talented professor, always took notes. But this time he stood stiffly, and there was no longer any desire for the dark magic on his face.
In contrast, the facial features on the back of his head were more distinct, as if they could burst out at any time, which made Quirrell look more like a stiff doll.
Voldemort must have penetrated further into Quirrell, Della guessed.
This time more blood was drawn from her, and Della's thoughts followed the slowly flowing red blood.
She suddenly had an idea. Undoubtedly, Voldemort's possession of Quirrell allowed them to have some fusion. This could be an infiltration of the soul or a one-sided assimilation. Then, why didn't he possess himself who had his blood?
Obviously, she is the best choice. Apart from bloodline and talent, she is also very close to the boy who survived the disaster, which should make it easier for him to do many things.
Then why didn't he ask himself to do so after he had made an unbreakable vow?
Della didn't think it was because Voldemort had some father-daughter feelings or was uncomfortable with his gender. A parasite who threatened a child to make an unbreakable vow couldn't care about these things.
So, what was it that prevented him from attacking himself?
If he really has this intention, then is the blood obtained from him really only effective in prolonging his life?
Endless doubts and thoughts flashed across her well-behaved and polite face. Della still did not ask about any of their plans, but just studied her black magic as usual.
Her progress was already quite fast, but Voldemort seemed very impatient this time. He seemed eager to impart more knowledge to her. Quirrell brought more books on the dark arts, and their meeting time increased from once a week to twice a week.
As she studied more, the names of the books became more straightforward and bloody. Della touched the stains on the spines that looked like dried blood, her eyes heavy.
When Quirrell made his second move, he did not inform Della in advance. Of course, this could also be a sudden impulse on his or Voldemort's part.
On the Quidditch field, Harry's broom suddenly became extremely disobedient, shaking like crazy, and the shock of Gryffindor and the cheers of Slytherin reached his ears together, making it feel particularly unreal.
In the chaos, Della, who was sitting on the upper floor with senior Aryan, almost subconsciously looked at Quirrell. Her unnatural movement was so large that Hermione noticed it out of the corner of her eye and followed her gaze towards the teachers and board members' seats.
However, what Hermione saw was not Quirrell's turban, but Snape who was muttering to himself.
Harry's exclamations were heard from time to time, and Hermione had an idea in a few breaths. She quietly disappeared among the excited Gryffindor crowd.
Smoke rose from the serious professor's black robe. The action of putting out the fire interrupted the young man's spell. The brave lion chased the golden ball again and finally brought victory to Gryffindor.
A low roar of disappointment spread throughout the Slytherin audience. Although the seniors around him did not boo, their brows were deeply twisted.
If I remember correctly, Gryffindor's victory would put them slightly ahead of Slytherin, which would be unfavorable for the House Cup, especially since Slytherin has won it for seven consecutive years.
However, with that professor around, Slytherin would eventually catch up no matter what the process was. The only difference was whether it was obvious or not.
Thinking of this, Della looked at the seats over there again, and caught a glimpse of a familiar figure between the gaps. Hermione's brown hair shuttled through the gaps between the stands. Amid the cheers, she quickly went into Gryffindor to cheer for Harry. Their eyes met, and Hermione smiled at her.
That smile was sincere and kind, but it suddenly pierced Della's heart.
Come to think of it, what kind of expression did she have just now when facing Harry, whose life was at stake? What kind of mentality was she in when looking at the boy who was kind to him?
Everything in front of her was suddenly drained of color, and the noise faded away from her ears. For the first time, Della questioned what kind of creature she was. What was the difference between a person who watched her friend die coldly and a parasite?
At this moment, she realized her situation. She never gave anything and certainly didn't deserve anything.
But she didn't dare to face her own hypocrisy.
With a willingness to give, hypocrisy and sincerity are completely separated, making it difficult to tell whether it is deceiving others or deceiving oneself.
After all, she didn't have the courage to take the first step, and after all, she still didn't have the intention to do so.
In the past, she started from a pair of eyes and kept capturing the next pair of eyes, trapping her emotions one by one.
Now, it starts with a smile, constantly gaining the next bit of sympathy, and finally sealing herself up.
And what exactly is in her own soul?
Della didn't remember how she left the venue and returned to the dormitory that day. Her distraction was regarded as loss by Arlian, who hugged Della for comfort.
That embrace was as warm and soft as ever, but it could not touch that heart that was freezing cold.
Maggie rubbed her around the neck as usual. A sense of restraint that she had never experienced before spread from her neck to her whole body. It seemed that even breathing became difficult. Tears flowed from her lifeless eyes, but there was no expression on her face.
"Shhh wach (Hold me tight)."
The tightness on her neck intensified, while the touch of the snake head on her face was incredibly gentle. The extreme contrast made Della frown. She was still shedding tears, and the slowly falling drops of water hit the gray-green snake's body and fell down in an instant.
The restraints let her know the life that she exists, and the gentleness lets her feel the tenderness that she should cherish.