Out of control

The result of sleeping badly all night was that when Aurora opened her eyes the next morning, she didn't feel her right arm or legs for a brief half-minute.

She lay on the bed, waiting for the numbness to clear up and disappear, and the soft, dull pain crept back up the hurt of her calf and palm and hovered there.

After breakfast, Aurora walked slowly to the door, took out the mail box from the Newsboy's morning mail and newspapers, ready to bring into the house. She had asked for Mrs Brent's leave of absence, and was going to wait until her leg was better before going to work.

It seemed that a while back Mr. Geoffrey Pearson Hawthorne had placed a successful ad in the newspaper for a handmade instrument. Aurora looked up at the postcard in her hand. Almost all of them were here to buy instruments. She put letters and newspapers on the coffee table in the living room and turned on the radio. The Sweet Voice of a woman was broadcasting the weather forecast for the day. At the end of the day, she reminded the audience to bring an umbrella.

She'd been here almost six days. Severus Snape's owl must have flown to Aurora's windowsill at the same time almost every night, bringing the new potion with it. On the third day, Avrora felt less painful to walk on. He had a relapse and infection from accidentally touching the water. But it was better than before, so she decided to go on a tour of the city with Mr and Mrs Hawthorne.

It was Josephine's birthday, and Aurora and Geoffrey Pearson had prepared a birthday present for her, in a small square in London.

On the morning of his departure, Geoffrey Pearson found the family's long-unused camera, wore a rather youthful sweatshirt, and carried him and Aurora's acoustic guitar on his back. Even though Aurora had repeatedly said she was fine and could carry her own guitar, Geoffrey Pearson insisted.

It's not far from the house. Take a bus to Raqm Sab'ah,Al Maḩaţţah-LRB-Number Seven Station) and get oIt. it's only a 15-minute walk.

It was a rather old Riverside Square, which had lost its original value due to the urban planning changes of the last decade or so, and became a good place to feed pigeons.

Geoffrey Pearson spent two months writing a song for his beloved wife, and then secretly practiced with Aurora for two weeks, preparing to sing it to Josephine on her birthday.

The surprise was so successful that later that morning, when the entire plaza was almost a makeshift open-air concert for Josephine, she happily sang song after song to the applause of everyone around her. There was also a free-lance musician named Ellison, who joined Aurora on the guitar to play several upbeat dance classics, hawthorne and his wife, who were white-haired but still affectionate with each other, held hands and danced in the square.

A pure white dove glided over Aurora's guitar, cooing and tilting its head to look at her. Aurora reached out and let him jump on the back of her hand. The little one spread his wings in a friendly manner and stuck his head out to peck the tip of Aurora's nose.

Geoffrey Pearson caught it on tape. He held the photo in his hand, where it had just come out of the camera, and held it there for a moment. Then he handed it to Aurora. "I see the little things seem to like being around you," he said

"Maybe it's because I always carry a little snack with me," Aurora said as she ripped open a packet of salt-baked peas from her pocket and fed it to the white pigeon, "They're also smart enough to know when someone is carrying something they want to eat."

The Pigeon finished the peas, pecked Aurora's fingers, and flew away.

The sun had risen completely, sprinkling everyone with a soft, bright golden light, and London was waking up in a milky mist and a yellowish dawn.

Back in her suburban house, Aurora listened to the radio all day, switching channels, stopping for Favorite Music and novel readings and switching later. It was Saliman Wort's reading of the Sense and Sensibility that now echoed in the room, just as Colonel Brandon had left the party in a hurry for London because of something unknown.

Crouching in bed, she flipped through the photo Geoffrey Pearson had sent her, and drew a piece of paper from her purse, slanting it down. She is not in the habit of keeping a diary unless something touching happens. Like today.

It felt like the Weasley House to her, all warm and cheerful. Perhaps it was a relationship that rarely felt like this, a small thing that would have struck a chord with Aurora if it weren't for everyone else. She couldn't help thinking that if Emond hadn't died, he and Marianne would be the same person she envied right now.

Aurora pulled the pocket watch she had been wearing for years out of her pocket. She sighed and let out a sigh of regret. She sank into her soft, light pillow, covered her face with a thin, hard-edged notebook and scooped her long hair over the bed.

The contents of the radio progressed to the parts that Aurora was most familiar with, and she didn't have to think about them, i can blurt out the most impressive words: "Love is a never-fading mark, even if the storm, will never be shaken."

The next, a dark-brown ghost owl with white spots flew through the window, and the girl who was dead on the bed gave a ghastly cry, and with her little paws she threw the object wrapped in heavy parchment into António de Oliveira Salazar's diary, then suddenly opened the diary scared to crawl back to the windowsill crouched in a ball, staring at the diary with round eyes.

Aurora quickly got up, put the journal back under her pillow, and reached out to touch the frozen owl. She opened the package. It contained the potion of the day, as she had expected.

She thought Severus Snape would leave her alone when she got back from the forest, so the next day she talked to Geoffrey Pearson and the others about which hospital to make an appointment with. But by nightfall, the owl had arrived with a wounding potion and a note so familiar that Aurora could guess who had written it, even if she closed her eyes.

The words on the note are so simple that they are only two words. Apply the medicine externally. Typical potion professor style. Honestly, the first day she got those potions, she didn't even think she was awake.

Aurora took out a piece of paper from her desk and wrote a short thank-you note. She was feeling much better and would be back to work in the magical pet shop in two days. Then I wrote about my experiences during the day and picked out some beautiful landscape photos from the pile to put in the envelope.

Then she remembered that it was not a holiday, and that she had only been given medicine because of the professor's duty to his students. Her two-or three-page letter, complete with a photograph and nothing but the first few sentences, was hardly appropriate.

He was a potions professor of his own, not a familiar conversationalist like António de Oliveira Salazar and Works. She didn't think Severus Snape would enjoy talking to a little girl, as anyone with any common sense at Hogwarts should know.

Aurora pursed her lips, took out the photo and stationery, and scribbled a polite thank-you note on a small post-it note. She placed it in a thin, flat envelope.

Maybe I should give something to the other party. After all, my wound can heal so quickly because of these potions. But Avrora couldn't think of anything. After holding the note for half an hour, I finally put it in the envelope.

So Be it. She thought.

The Owl picked up the envelope, flapped its wings and flew away quickly. Aurora changed her dressing and lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling above her. The thin setting sun crept in through the window, creating a delicate, dreamlike glow that made people drowsy.

In a Daze, Avrora had a dream, and just as she was about to be swallowed by the bloody tide of the Mangulas sentry snakes, she saw Severus Snape appear to save her. The boundary between dream and reality was torn apart by the dark figure. The emotions that should have been eliminated long ago rolled back from the depths of the dream, as if they had never been far away.

An inexplicable force made her stagger to her feet from the ground, clinging to the person in front of her, crying uncontrollably.

When she was done Screaming, Avrora saw that she was holding Marianne, who had died many years before, instead of the man in black.

"Mom?"

"You're going to school alone, Roth," she said, looking at herself, her eyes soft and quiet as a vast forest under a thick fog, with no end in sight and no shape in sight. "Mommy Can't take you to school today, and Mommy won't pick you up."

"Why?"

"You can't be so naughty and cry all the time. You have to learn to take care of yourself. I know you can do it, but you won't do it in front of me."

"I don't understand."

"You won't cry if I don't come, Darling. I know."

"Why am I crying?"

She kissed Aurora's eyes and murmured, "Because you know I love you just as much as you love me. Your tears will only work on those who love you, and only those you love will make you cry."

Aurora reached out to hug her, but she didn't. Then she opened her eyes and woke up.

The clock on the wall dutifully recorded each passing second, showing that it was now 3:10 in the morning, a time when everything was supposed to be quiet and peaceful.

Aurora sat on the bed, wrapped her arms around herself, and thought of Marianne's words over and over again. The wind from the open window slipped in, blowing in the face, a cold.

She reached out and touched her face, her hands wet with water.

"If I wasn't here, you wouldn't cry. Because I know you love me, like..."

Repressed into the frozen darkness, time and whispers are the only flowing existence. The words burst into full bloom in a split second and then quickly faded into the air.

"I love you as well."

Aurora lay back on her bed, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep again. But she stayed awake until the sky in the east was white with fish.

She sat up again, got out of bed, went to the window, and lay on the ledge and looked at the brightening horizon. How long has it been since I've had insomnia like this? Apart from the time she first arrived here, it was only when Marianne died that she sat like this from dusk until dawn.

Now she felt it again, and it was awful.

It's like she's got a potion report card for stepping on the line again... ... No, it's ten times worse.

Anyway, it's a Catastrophe bad feeling.

　　...

On the seventh day of her leave, Aurora decided to go back to the store. Although the scab was new and painful, she was too embarrassed to leave Mrs. Brunt alone.

As a rule of thumb last year, mid-to-late July is the busiest time, when Diagon Alley is packed with young wizards about to start school. By the end of August, Diagon Alley was even more lively, as Hogwarts seniors began to buy books for the new semester.

Aurora got up early in the morning and put a thin layer of gauze over the wound. Then she put on a light brown dress that barely covered the gauze and left the house with a satchel on her back.

Though Diagon Alley was supposed to be packed, the People Mountain People Sea was more than Aurora had bargained for. And mainly concentrated in the area of Liyun bookstore. As she squeezed through the crowd into the magical pet store, she heard the name Gilderoy Lockhart and immediately understood where they had all come from.

There is no doubt that he has legions of fans, as well as reporters from the daily prophet.

Before Aurora could reach the shop door, a middle-aged woman with short, curly blond hair, square glasses, and a bright green silk dress burst out of the crowd, a hand with black nail polish rested on Aurora's shoulder.

Aurora looked back in amazement. She saw the man staring at her over the glasses, his chin pulled back and his bright red lips curled into a smile. He spoke with surprising speed and conviction, "You are, I presume, the hidden connection to a matter that has been the subject of much discussion in the Ministry of Magic Lately, are you not, Miss John Field?"

"I'm sorry, I don't remember meeting you." Aurora's long, hard nails hurt her shoulders and she tried to struggle, but she couldn't. "Please, can you..."

When the woman heard this, she narrowed her eyes and held her harder, it was as if Aurora would disappear in an instant. "It's okay. I've met your father. You look just like him. And this pocket watch. I Can't mistake it. I've interviewed him several times. He always wears this watch."

Aurora gasped in pain and reached out to push his hand. "Thank you for remembering him. Can you let go..."

The woman dodged her hand deftly, then half-dragged her out of the crowd, pushing her forward with grace, but Aurora could only trot so far as she could keep up, the cut on his calf began to hurt. "You know, I wanted to interview you months ago. I assume you're aware of the last ministry trial involving your father? I'm curious about your feelings. Of course, Dumbledore rejected me, saying it would only make you sadder and more confused."

With that, she snapped her fingers, and a dark green quill came out of nowhere and began to scribble on the parchment.

Women's words go on, she was too quick to let Aurora get in the way. "But you know what? I don't even think he told you that. Imagine a daughter Poker Face about her father's death? You really want to go to that sentencing meeting, don't you? But there's no escape from Hogwarts, is there? Poor Thing."

Aurora tried to take her hand back. "I don't know what you're talking about. Please let go of me. I have to get back to work."

Then she saw the quill record her words as"Acquiescence out of fear".

"Hey! I'm not agreeing with you, I'm just saying I want to go back to work!"

The quill-"Little daughter who lost her father has no one to rely on but to work alone to earn a living, afraid of being expelled from school and afraid to tell the truth of being deceived".

Aurora was shocked by the way the pen worked.

"Do you know the truth about your father's murder?" She asked.

"I don't know, but..."

"Dumbledore deceived John Field's daughter into not knowing that her father had been killed," the quill quickly noted.

Aurora was stunned for a moment, then she was angry. "Can you stop it? I never said Professor Dumbledore lied to me! You asked for the truth, so I said I didn't know. Do you know?"

Feather note-"Desperate little girl seeks truth in Father's death over daily prophet."

Aurora, ...

"I understand you haven't been working in Diagon Alley in the last few days, and that was after an evening with Dean Slytherin," said the woman, or Rita Skeeter, bending slightly, his face, which had been overdone with make-up, looked as phony and mean as a mask. "Did he threaten you?"

Aurora frowned and said nothing, lest she should be scribbled with another quill, but her silence was interpreted as a silent acknowledgment of fear.

"I noticed you had some cuts on your hands," Rita said, glancing down at Aurora's body. Then she let out a cry of surprise or surprise. She reached out and tugged at the hem of her dress. "And your legs."

Aurora snatched her dress from her hands, he shook her hand off. "Wait a minute. I don't know you at all. I don't have to answer these questions, do I? Besides, I don't think you need my answer at all. You've already made up everything you want, haven't you?"

"Ha Ha Ha." Rita smiled, but his eyes darkened.

"Excuse me."

With that, Avrora trotted through the crowd and into the magic pet shop.

"Aurora, my dear, you're home at Last!" Said Mrs. Brent, looking back at the man who had come in, overjoyed, "You have no idea how crazy these magical creatures are these days. I Can't control them anymore."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brent. I should have been back sooner." Aurora placed the satchel on the table and set about opening the cages to feed them.

"How's Your Wound?"

"It's okay." Except that I was running so fast that it hurt a little.

"Ka-chow."

Aurora frowned and turned to see a newspaper reporter with a magic camera standing in the doorway. "I'm just curious," Rita said as she walked up the steps. "How did you get that wound, and you seem afraid to mention it, because it had something to do with someone?"

The quill began to jog down more outrageous speculations about Severus Snape's and Aurora's injuries.

"Don't write about him!" Aurora shouted, almost furious.

"Him?" Rita's eyes narrowed as she pondered the word.

"Not my father, not the professor, not the principal!"

In the next second, the entire magic pet shop's owls and cats rushed out of their cages and pounced on Rita and the photographer. In an instant, the whole Diagon Alley was in chaos, owls were flying everywhere, feathers falling like snowflakes in the dead of winter, and screams were heard.

"Merring..." Brent was stunned, frozen in place and looking at everything with bewilderment.

Two snow-white Owls chased the green magic pen and tore at it, pecking at its bright feathers. The other owls were happy to scratch out the book, which was full of nonsense, and scraps of paper fell on the floor.

"Merring, what the Hell Is This? !" Rita dodged the Owls overhead and the cat at his feet. "Oh, shit!"

Aurora was also shocked by the scene, only to find that the shop's magical creatures all ran out.

She shouted at the pets who were still chasing Rita and the quill, "Come Back!"

Then, the little ones who were still aggressive earlier ran back obediently from the outside and got into their original cages, as if nothing had happened.

Rita and the photographer tidied up their clothes in a hurry and left cursing. Leaving Aurora and Mrs. Brunt looking at each other silently.

"Am I to be imprisoned by the Ministry of Magic?" Aurora sounded contrite. "I don't know what happened, but..."

"Actually, they won't care if you use magic in Diagon Alley. Trace can't tell if it's you or someone else in Diagon Alley, so you'll be fine," Mrs. Brent consoled, "But, if you ask me, you did a really good job!"

Then both laughed at the same time.