Night Rain

The crucial Quidditch match ended after just five minutes.

Harry Potter caught the Golden Snitch, and the stands turned into a sea of ​​gold and red.

For the first time in seven years, Slytherin's dominance over the House Cup was overturned, and Snape, who was the referee for the match, looked as if he had swallowed a fly.

The students, whether elated or dejected, didn't notice that two professors were missing from the audience, nor did they realize that change was quietly taking place at the school.

The following day, students in their third year and above were informed that their Muggle Studies class would be temporarily changed to a study period because their professor was sick.

Yes, Belvina Black is sick, and very sick.

It wasn't because he was terrified by Voldemort, nor because the night was too cold, and it wasn't because he was faking illness to escape.

Belvina was really sick. She looked even more haggard than Quirrell, her face was as pale as paper, her hair was dry and split, and even her eyes had lost their sparkle.

Weakness in limbs, soreness in hands and feet, listlessness, drowsiness but difficulty sleeping, always waking up from nightmares, followed by a splitting headache, and being attacked by the panic of losing everything again.

She had to take turns using the tranquilizers and stimulants provided by Mrs. Pomfrey.

As the name suggests, tranquilizers are for promoting sleep and reducing nightmares; stimulants are for refreshing the mind, giving her the energy to think, overcome psychological trauma, and recover as quickly as possible.

The psychological trauma, at least that's what Belvina believes, wasn't left by that intimate encounter with Voldemort that night, but by the distant year of 1979.

That night, Hogwarts was still shrouded in gloom and rain. A cold wind howled, raindrops pattered against the windowpanes, and the fireplace flames flickered and crackled occasionally.

Belvina lay on her side in bed, curled up in a ball, her brows furrowed, her forehead and nose covered in fine beads of sweat, her pale lips slightly parted but unable to utter a sound.

She had another nightmare.

The scene in my dream was pitch black, with only hissing roars that could be heard.

Then, a crisp "click" sound rang out, and two bright and piercing eyes appeared out of thin air, which was quite frightening.

Soon, those two eyes turned scarlet, and the pupils became thin slits, like a cold, venomous snake ready to devour its prey.

The scene in the dream became blurry, and then the scene jumped to an exquisitely decorated room, where a sprawling family tree hung on the wall, with shimmering gold lines forming a line of words so blurry that they were indistinguishable.

The teenage girl stood in front of the family tree, looking listless, her dark eyes filled with a resentment beyond her years.

A cold, sharp voice rang in the girl's ear, a voice full of allure. He said, "I see your dreams, Belvina Black, and I see your fears and resentment."

"Shut up, please, shut up."

"Your older brother is the eldest son; he should be the future of the family. Look at what he's done... Your other older brother, the most favored and mother's favorite youngest son, everyone around him praises him, but what has he done...?"

Every word was like a sharp sword, piercing deep into the girl's heart, cutting open her fragile and tender soul, peeling it layer by layer like an onion for her to see.

Those scarlet, snake-like eyes reappeared, clinging to a thick, black mist that exuded an evil and ominous aura. The mist circled the girl once before finally stopping in front of her, between her and the family tree.

Then, the ominous black mist split into two young men with black hair. Both were equally handsome, but one was flamboyant while the other was quiet.

The arrogant young man spoke first, saying, "You're still as annoying as ever, always a stupid crybaby. No one will ever like you, you're useless, an idiot..."

The quiet young man then spoke, saying, "You think she'll like you if you imitate her? No, never. She'd rather never have had a daughter like you..."

The two young men said in unison, "Think about your name, think carefully with your stupid brain, huh? Belvina, Belvina, why don't you guess why this is..."

Finally, the previously cold and shrill voice rang out again, but what he said was unclear, as it was drowned out by a piercing scream.

On the fifth floor of the castle, in the Muggle Studies classroom, Belvina, startled awake, sat up abruptly. Her eyes darted around unconsciously, her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her high chest heaved violently, her clothes were disheveled, and she looked dazed.

"It's alright, nothing will happen, it was just a nightmare." A gentle voice sounded, soft yet incredibly firm.

Bassheda knelt on the bed, her slightly plump figure exposed to the cold of the night. She embraced the awakened Belvina, her arms tightly encircling her friend who had never felt so helpless.

"I'm here, Belvina, I've always been by your side," Bassheda said softly. "Always."

For several days, Bassheda had been taking care of the sick Belvina without taking off her clothes. Only when Belvina's condition improved slightly could she finally rest a little, but she was still woken up by Belvina.

Belvina's head rested on something soft, the familiar, comforting scent so close at hand, offering solace to her vulnerability and helplessness.

The room was quiet. The rain outside had lessened and stopped pattering. The fire in the fireplace had gone out, leaving only a wisp of embers that still provided a little warmth.

"Bassheda, am I really that useless?" Belvina said softly. "So utterly vulnerable."

"How could that be! You are the most powerful witch in this land, even Dumbledore gives you special treatment." Bassheda comforted her, gently patting Belvina's smooth and delicate back, as if coaxing a child.

Bassheda continued to comfort her softly, saying, "You're the most amazing person I've ever met! Think about it, you started as a low-level employee in the Ministry of Magic, worked your way up to head of the office, and even protected another minister. Who else could do that?"

"And also, you've successfully avenged yourself on that old bastard Crouch! He's still holed up in the International Department of Magical Cooperation, researching import/export cauldrons!"

They can talk a good game of reasoning, but when it comes to actually doing something, they burst into tears.

At this moment, Belvina was blinded by her own involvement, unable to heal herself; all the thoughts and reasoning in her mind had turned into a thick, sticky mess that she couldn't pour out.

"I don't sound so bad after all," Belvina muttered to herself. "At least I'm somewhat useful."

Besides settling a personal score, taking down Barty Crouch was also "in line with public opinion," since Crouch's philosophy was to sentence prisoners to life imprisonment as a minimum, which had offended many people.

“No, no, no, you are the best in the world, one of a kind,” Bassheda retorted. “You are Belvina Black, Bassheda Bablin’s best friend, her forever friend.”

"Forever? Forever is too far away, I'll get tired of it."

Bassheda wasn't angry; in fact, she felt much relieved. Being able to joke around meant that the terrible situation was improving.

"I'll keep bothering you. Even if you get tired of me, I'll still cling to you relentlessly. Don't even think about getting rid of me."

"So the essence of ancient runes is a permanent adhesive spell? Once it's stuck on, you can't peel it off?"

"You, a movie projectionist, have no right to comment on the great ancient runes!"

Bassheda was a little flustered, but that was all. She knew that Belvina was really getting better and was gradually getting out of her predicament. Her future would be much brighter.

Before I knew it, the rain outside the window gradually intensified, pattering against the windowpane with a tinkling sound.

Spring rain falls, and all things come to life.