Harry slowly got up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the window beside him.
The sky was unusually blue today, and outside the window, two gray sparrows chirped noisily.
He had been woken up by them.
His gaze fell upon the small table beside the bed, and he was startled to see it piled high with candy, like a small mountain; it seemed half a candy store had been moved here.
Just then, a familiar voice came from outside the door.
"Madam Pomfrey, I just want to go in and see. If he's not awake, I won't do anything, and I won't disturb anyone else."
"All right, all right," Madam Pomfrey's helpless voice sounded.
Before long, Hermione appeared before him. Harry was about to push himself up when a sharp pain shot through his wrist.
"Oh, Harry! Oh my goodness, you're finally awake!" Hermione exclaimed with delight, her face alight with an unmasked smile, as she rushed over and helped Harry sit up on the bed.
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, rubbing his aching wrist.
"Hey, don't touch it," Hermione said. "The muscles and tendons in this hand of yours were crushed. Do you know what Madam Pomfrey said?"
Harry looked at his splinted hand with some surprise: "What did she say?"
"She said that between your wrist bone and skin, there was nothing but rotten flesh, and she also said that she didn't know what you drank, but all your organs and muscles had suffered overloaded damage.
Oh my goodness, I almost fainted when I heard it!"
"Oh!" Harry's mouth twitched, and he was also a little alarmed. At the time, he just didn't want to let go of the long sword, and as a result, Lord Voldemort kept twisting it with a strap. As for how terrible it was... well, he hadn't paid attention to it then.
The overload of muscles and organs was even simpler; that was thanks to the Rage Potion: Troll Blood Diluted Version.
"I don't even know how you dared to go find Quirrell alone," Hermione said.
"You know?!" Harry looked at her worried face in surprise.
"Of course, the whole school knows. Well, I don't know how it spread, but these candies are their gifts to you," Hermione explained, then immediately turned back to the topic, questioning him: "So how did you dare?"
"Hermione, don't overthink it. I chose it myself. I wanted to try and face him, face Lord Voldemort."
"Uh, cough, cough, cough... cough, cough..."
The white curtain next to them was suddenly pulled open, and a senior student, who seemed to be ill, whispered:
"Potter, I know you're not afraid of You-Know-Who, but please don't say that anymore."
"Oh, sorry," Harry said, his face embarrassed.
After the curtain was pulled back, Harry looked at Hermione: "How exactly did the rumor spread outside?"
"Quirrell was going to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and you went to stop him," Hermione said.
"It didn't mention You-Know-Who?" Harry whispered.
"You-Know-Who? No," Hermione shook her head in confusion. "What does that have to do with Quirrell?"
"Oh, then we'll have to talk about that later. Apparently, this might not be suitable to spread," Harry shook his head. He picked up a piece of filled chocolate and put it in his mouth.
"By the way, what was that big explosion outside the Castle that day?"
"What big explosion?!" Hermione said.
"It was, it happened shortly before I was admitted to the hospital, two giant cloud hands wrapped around from sky and earth..."
"That was Mr. Jones's image spell," Hermione said.
Oh...
Harry immediately remembered how Dumbledore had released a shield then, blocking all the shockwaves. No matter how grand it looked, there was no feeling inside the Castle at all.
That incredibly fast casting speed, that super-huge shield, instantly enveloped the entire Castle.
"In any case, what you did this time was too dangerous," Hermione said.
"It's alright," Harry said calmly. Now that he was awake, he only needed to think carefully to realize the thought put into these checkpoints.
The previous checkpoints, though difficult, were still traceable.
And the final checkpoint was a Troll that came with a Rage Potion.
This had nothing to do with him; it was purely a challenge set for Quirrell, and also his safe house for recuperation.
And the Troll's blood, killed by Quirrell, was full of Rage Potion, its concentration just within his tolerance.
Was this a coincidence?!
He knew very well it wasn't.
However, even with all these favorable conditions, he still found it difficult to directly defeat the incredibly weak Lord Voldemort.
"It's truly terrifying..." he sighed, looking down at his hands.
He still knew too few spells; otherwise, he wouldn't have foolishly gone up with a sword at the end.
Harry's mind kept replaying the events.
My observation skills are still not enough... If I had discovered earlier that my body could harm Lord Voldemort, even if I just sprayed blood on his face, it would have been enough to give him a good taste of his own medicine.
If I also learned the Silencing Charm and brought the Invisibility Cloak, I could poke him in the butt...
In short...
I'm still too weak!
Hermione looked at Harry helplessly, only able to shake her head.
In her mind, a little angel with wings suddenly appeared, tugging at her ear and saying impatiently:
"Huh?! Are you going to lecture him again? Hermione, Hermione, don't be like this anymore. Anyway, he's awake now, and nothing's missing. This is a good thing, right!"
Hermione shook her head, shooing away the talkative little angel, and laughed, "Alright, you need to rest well. Oh, right, I need to go tell Mr. Jones that you're awake."
"No problem," Harry nodded.
Not long after Hermione left, three more people appeared by the sickbed.
"Tsk, put it down, put it down!" Draco directed Crabbe and Goyle.
Crabbe held Harry's suitcase, which contained neatly organized daily necessities, while Goyle carried a cake.
"Oh, wow, I really didn't expect..."
"Didn't expect what?" Draco raised the corner of his mouth triumphantly, anticipating the other party's profuse thanks.
Harry looked at Draco's expression and sighed helplessly, "Anyway, thank you! I was just wondering what to wear when I leave the ward."
As for his previous clothes, they were probably beyond repair.
Thinking of this, he felt a pang of heartache; each set of those clothes was accumulated by the neighborhood's little repair expert, bit by bit!
Draco nodded contentedly, drawing out his words, "Ah~ Don't say thank you, tell me what you were thinking, going to stop Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone!
They said you broke into a haunted house full of screaming monsters, and even killed another Troll, is that true?!"
"Some of the words you just said are true, but put together, they're as fake as can be!" Harry said.
"Alright, tell me," Draco looked at him expectantly. Crabbe and Goyle were no exception; these two guys had lost a lot of weight compared to before.
Harry, of course, didn't mind sharing. He had indeed done it, and even received praise from Uncle Howl, so it could indeed be considered a passing assessment.
It should have passed, right... Harry thought.
However, as expected, he slightly concealed this experience, making it seem less intense, otherwise it would be too flashy.
At the same time, he denied the existence of Lord Voldemort.
However, Harry soon realized something from the faces of Draco and the other two.
Even his toned-down story was more bizarre and thrilling than the rumors currently circulating outside.
Not long after the story ended, Howl walked in, followed by Dumbledore.
Howl's cat face glanced at the portrait of Dilys Derwent on the wall of the hospital wing. Dilys was a very famous healer, and even St. Mungos Hospital had her portrait.
Additionally, she was also a former Principal of Hogwarts.
This made it easy to explain why he would run into Dumbledore when going downstairs.
"Is there anything you want to ask?" Howl looked at Harry.
"The Ministry of Magic's matter..." Harry asked.
"Oh, oh, oh," Dumbledore interrupted him, smiling, "Harry, don't worry, that was just a small trouble, and it's already resolved."
That's good... Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Then he turned and asked, "What about the Professors... what did they say?
Now that my news has spread, will anyone accuse the Professors of being incompetent, because I went to Professor McGonagall at the time!"
Dumbledore glanced at Howl, not understanding why... Harry's focus always seemed to touch him.
"The Professors are fine, of course. To be precise... two Professors were furious after learning the truth, because they were worried about you!"
"Who?"
"Professor McGonagall and..." Dumbledore opened his mouth: "Hagrid!"
Howl sighed. He didn't know what past Severus and Harry's parents had, but... it was clearly very complicated.
He still remembered that day, Snape unreservedly showing his towering rage to Dumbledore.
It was very much a feeling of "Even if he's the Principal, I'll kill him for you to see!"
Afterward, Harry asked many more questions, about the Mirror of Erised, about the Curse on himself, that so-called magic of "love."
He listened, half understanding, yet feeling a profound awe!
After leaving the hospital wing, Howl and Dumbledore strolled down the corridor.
"Oh, right, Howl!" Dumbledore suddenly spoke, "The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor position is vacant now. I wonder if you'd be interested in taking it for a year."
Howl thought for a moment, then nodded.
"A year?"
Dumbledore chuckled at this answer. Because of Riddle's Curse, he now directly asks if people are willing to serve for a year when recruiting.
However, the reality is that most people cannot even serve for a year.
Sometimes, even the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam questions are set by Professor McGonagall.
"If you can do it, longer is certainly possible. Hogwarts welcomes you."
Howl was somewhat lost in thought. He had heard about the Curse on Defense Against the Dark Arts since entering this school.
No matter who teaches, during their one-year tenure, various accidents, big and small, will always occur, and they will eventually leave the position, either voluntarily or forced.
He was quite curious about this Curse, which involved concepts of the future and destiny.
"Then it's settled," Howl nodded, walking towards the fourth floor.
Dumbledore watched his retreating figure, feeling pleased.
This position had always been a thorn in his side, not a major issue, but it constantly required people to be busy with it.
And as time went on, this problem had begun to worsen.
If Howl hadn't agreed, he might even have had to place an advertisement in The Daily Prophet or find some incompetent person to fill the position.
Perhaps starting today... Hogwarts might gain a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who can serve for a long term.
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