parentshiftbook Chapter 286 Misplaced Hatred
Chapter 286 Misplaced Hatred
Chapter 286 Misplaced Hatred (5.2K) (2/2)
Lupin avoided his gaze, walked to the table, and unconsciously ran his fingers over the rough cover of a book titled "Aquatic Creatures: Dangers You Must Know."
Lynch's accusations were like cold needles, piercing the calm shell he was trying to maintain.
He raised his head, his eyes swirling with pain and struggle.
“I thought I could do it, Mr. Lynch.” Lupin’s voice was low and hoarse, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. “I really thought I could. Over the years, I’ve learned to hide my emotions and endure—many things. But this time is different.”
He took a deep breath, as if it took immense courage to continue speaking, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and profound pain.
"Tell me, that hero I, all of us, have mourned for twelve years," the loyal and courageous martyr in the story, was actually a coward who blew up the whole street to escape! He was the truly despicable traitor! And Sirius—the Sirius we've hated for twelve years, believing him to be cold-bloodedly betraying James and Lily and cruelly murdering Peter—was innocent from beginning to end!"
His tone became agitated, and his fingers gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.
"This completely different story, Mr. Lynch, is heavier than any bad news. It screams in my head every day!"
It shattered everything I'd known for the past twelve years! The deaths of James and Lily—Little Harry becoming an orphan—
Sirius Black was tortured for twelve years in Azkaban—and the root of all this may lie in that most unassuming friend we once trusted implicitly and even instinctively protected!
His voice was filled with grief and indignation, as well as a sense of absurdity from being utterly fooled.
"The weight of this truth may have been far greater than I ever imagined. It burns within me constantly, making me think of Harry's lost parents when I see students' faces in class; thinking of the injustice Sirius might have suffered when I see shadows in the hallways; even subconsciously searching for the name of the person who should have died when looking at a student list. I tried my best, Lynch, but I overestimated my capacity to bear this cruel past."
A silence fell over the office, broken only by Lupin's slightly rapid breathing.
Lin Qi didn't speak. He just stared at Lu Ping with his unfathomable eyes, as if he were measuring every word he said and feeling the emotional tension in Lu Ping's words that was almost bursting out of his body.
After a long while, Lin Qi slowly exhaled, and his tense, reproachful posture relaxed slightly.
He pondered, his fingertips gently stroking his chin.
"I understand." Lynch's tone was no longer so cold, but carried a sense of seriousness after weighing the options. "It seems that waiting itself has become a greater risk and drain for you, and it is undermining you from within."
He paused for a moment, then looked sharply at Lupin, as if he had made up his mind.
"Then, let's change our plans. We can't wait any longer."
Lupin abruptly raised his head, a flicker of disbelief and a sudden glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes: "You mean—"
"Yes, we can start now," Lin Qi said decisively.
He looked at Lupin: "But we need you to be at your best, Remus. Not the one torn apart by guilt and anger you are now, but the Remus Lupin who was once a raider, shrewd and astute. You need a calm mind, steady magic, and the ability to handle any unexpected situation."
Upon hearing the long-unheard term "Raiders," Lupin's body trembled slightly.
He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the excitement surging within him at the sight of hope, and forced himself to calm down.
"I understand!" he immediately assured him, his voice still hoarse but now filled with an unwavering determination. "I'll get through this, I promise. For James, for Lily, and for Sirius—I will do it."
"Talk is not enough." Lynch took a step closer, staring intently into his eyes. "I don't need your promises, I need your actions and results. From this moment on, put away all your emotions—anger, sadness, guilt—and perfectly complete your task. During this process, if you again show any signs of 'daydreaming' like you did in class—"
Lynch didn't finish his sentence, but the unspoken threat hung in the air like a tangible threat.
"No!" Lupin interrupted him decisively, a long-lost warrior's flame finally igniting in his eyes. "I swear by my magic that I will never let personal emotions interfere with my actions again. I will give it my all, whatever you ask me to do."
He looked at Lynch and repeated himself again, almost emphatically, as if trying to etch the words into his very soul: "I promise."
"Protect the Gods!"
A thick, swirling, silvery-white mist erupted from the tip of Harry's wand. It flickered erratically, struggling to coalesce and dispel the faint chill emanating from the corner, which Lupin had released to simulate a Dementor. However, it ultimately failed to take a concrete form and vanished into the air a few seconds later, like a thin mist blown away by the wind.
Harry was panting heavily, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and a look of frustration on his face.
"Don't be discouraged, Harry!" Lupin immediately encouraged, though he himself couldn't hide his exhaustion. "This is already a huge improvement! The fact that you can produce so much tangible silver vapor proves you're very close to success. Remember this feeling; the Patronus Charm is extremely advanced magic, and you need time and practice."
"I know," Harry said, somewhat dejectedly putting away his wand, "but—when the Dementors actually appear, I don't know if I can do any better."
"You will," Lupin said firmly, waving his wand to put the practice tools away. "Come on, take a break. I think you deserve a hot cocoa."
He conjured two steaming mugs and handed one to Harry.
The two sat down at the scattered old tables and chairs by the classroom, and remained silent for a moment, with only the warmth of their hot drinks filling the somewhat chilly air.
After a brief silence, Lupin, seemingly trying to change the subject and lighten the mood, said, "I heard—about last week's Quidditch match. The weather was terrible, wasn't it?"
Harry's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as the frustration he had temporarily forgotten during practice returned.
"We lost," he said in a muffled voice. "I—I failed to catch the thief." He paused, his mind flashing back to those chilling black figures and his mother's dying screams.
"I encountered some interference."
He didn't explicitly say Dementors, but Lupin clearly understood.
"I heard," Lupin's voice lowered, carrying genuine apology and a hint of barely perceptible heaviness. "I'm so sorry, Harry. If I had known they would be near the pitch—"
He didn't finish speaking, but his eyes were filled with understanding for Harry's ordeal and self-reproach for failing to protect him better. He knew who those Dementors were after.
"It's alright, Professor, it's not your fault." Harry shook his head, trying to cheer himself up. "It's just that my Swiftwind broom—" He felt another pang of pain as he thought of his beloved broom, which had been destroyed by the Whomping Willow.
Lupin looked at him, his heart filled with complex emotions.
He paused for a moment, then changed the subject, trying to offer Harry some comfort.
"Speaking of Quidditch—did you know that your father was also a very good Seeker?"
"7
Harry paused slightly in the cup, looked up, and his grey-green eyes held a longing mixed with a hint of sadness: "I know—I've seen trophies with his name on them in the trophy room. But no one—no one has ever really told me the specifics."
His voice lowered: "Hagrid only told me he flew very well, and the others—seemed less willing to say more."
""
Lupin felt as if something was gripping his heart.
He looked at the boy who looked exactly like his old friend, who was frustrated by his near-ignorance of his father's glory, and a real feeling of pity and guilt welled up inside him.
He took a deep breath and decided to give Harry what he deserved—memories of his father.
"James—" Lupin's voice softened, carrying a warm, nostalgic tone, "He was practically born to fly broomsticks. I remember he was selected for the House team in his second year, which caused quite a stir. He had a kind of—"
A near-instinctive intuition always allowed him to anticipate the Golden Snitch's movements. Unlike some Seekers who rely solely on speed and eyesight, your father seemed to be able to sense the flow of air, to feel the subtle frequency of the Golden Snitch's wingbeats.
He paused, as if he could clearly see that scene in his mind.
"There was a match against Slytherin, and it was pouring rain like last week. Their Seeker was a big guy who tried to knock him off his broom with his body. And James?" Lupin chuckled and shook his head. "He dodged it at the last second with an almost impossible dive, the broom tip scraping the ground and splashing up a lot of mud, and then, using the momentum of the dive, he pulled up abruptly less than a thousand feet from the ground. A Golden Snitch was hovering right in front of him, and he grabbed it! The whole stadium erupted. Professor McGonagall, who was our Headmistress at the time, was so excited that she threw down a book she was holding."
Harry listened intently, his eyes glued to the screen, as if trying to memorize every detail Lupin described.
He could almost see that spirited young man who once darted through the rain – that was his father.
"He's amazing—" Harry murmured, his voice filled with longing.
"Yes, he's very capable," Lupin echoed softly, but the smile on his face gradually faded, covered by a deep shadow.
Warm memories recede like the tide, revealing the cold, hard rock of reality beneath.
His fingers unconsciously tightened, gripping the mug, his knuckles turning white.
"He was the best friend I've ever had—" Lupin's voice lowered, trembling slightly, his gaze becoming vacant, as if piercing through walls to see a distant, painful past. "Brave, loyal, full of energy—he trusted all his friends, trusted them with his life—"
His breathing suddenly became rapid, and a burning hatred that had been suppressed for too long burst through his carefully maintained calm.
"And Sirius Black!" The name was practically squeezed out through clenched teeth, filled with intense pain and rage. "How could he—how dare he! He took advantage of that trust, he betrayed James, betrayed Lily, betrayed all of us!"
Lupin jerked his head up, his grey eyes burning with a near-mad rage and pain Harry had never seen before: "The thought of him—the thought of him possibly lurking around nearby, trying to hurt you, Harry, makes me—"
He choked up, his body trembling slightly from the intense emotional turmoil, and the rest of his words turned into silent, heavy breaths.
At that moment, Harry clearly saw a chilling, almost murderous glint flash in the eyes of the usually gentle and composed professor.
Harry believed that he truly wished he could kill Sirius Black immediately.
This intense hatred startled Harry, but at the same time, he also saw the unfathomable sorrow in Professor Lupin's eyes.
He hesitated for a moment, put down his cup, and said softly, "Professor—"
Lupin seemed to be startled by his voice, and suddenly realized that he had lost his composure in front of a child.
He turned his face away awkwardly, took a few deep breaths, and tried to calm his turbulent emotions.
"I'm sorry, Harry," his voice was still hoarse, filled with exhaustion and remorse, "I shouldn't have said these things to you, and I shouldn't have—lost control like this."
"It's alright, Professor," Harry said sincerely, though he wasn't good at comforting people, but he tried to express himself. "I—I know what he did to my parents. I hate him too. But—but don't be too sad." He paused, then added, "We'll catch him."
Looking at the concerned and determined expression on Harry's face, which resembled James's, Lupin was filled with mixed emotions.
He forced a tired but grateful smile and nodded.
"Yes, you're right, Harry," he said softly, his voice regaining some of its calm. "Thank you. It's getting late; you should head back now. Be careful on your way."
Harry nodded and picked up his bag. "Thank you for your guidance, Professor. Goodbye."
Goodbye, Harry.
As Lupin watched Harry's thin figure disappear through the door and carefully closed it behind him, the composure he had been maintaining crumbled instantly.
He slumped back in his chair and covered his face with his hands.
The hatred he had vented towards Sirius in front of Harry now pierced his heart like a boomerang, its barbs sharper.
Because he knew that the hatred was truly directed at another person who had created this twelve-year-long miscarriage of justice, someone he had once regarded as a brother.
The agonizing feeling caused by this misaligned perception almost consumed him, leaving only his heavy breathing echoing in the silence of the office.
After a long while, the pain and anger on his face gradually faded, replaced by a bottomless weariness and doubt.
He didn't look in any particular direction, but simply spoke to the air, his voice hoarse and low: "Are you sure this will really work?"
The instant he finished speaking, something seemed to move in the shadow of the dim beam on the office roof.
The next moment, a crow with glossy black feathers glided down silently. Just before it touched the ground, its shape rippled, stretched, and changed like water. When it landed, it was Lynch, dressed in a gray suit, standing there, moving as nimbly as a falling leaf.
"I'm pretty sure this will work." Lynch's voice was calm and certain. He straightened his cuffs, as if transforming from a raven back into human form was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Peter Pettigrew, no matter how he's hiding now, he's definitely keeping a close watch on Harry. It's his instinct, and it's the only 'value' he can grasp right now."
He took a step and looked sharply at Lupin.
"Your heartfelt outburst in front of Harry just now"—your recollection of James, especially your intense hatred for Sirius Black, a hatred so intense it seemed you wanted to tear him to pieces—would soon reach the ears of his two inseparable friends through Harry. And I believe this message would ultimately be overheard by the eavesdropper lurking in the shadows.
Lupin frowned slightly, a hint of uncertainty on his face: "Harry would tell his friend about something that happened in his private time, without any reservations?" In his time, even among raiders, some of the more intense emotions were kept to themselves.
Lynch spread his hands almost dismissively.
"Clearly, in some ways, the friendship between the three of them is even stronger—or more transparent—than it was back then. They share secrets, fears, and almost every emotion. They are each other's support, talk about everything, and are more like family than family. Harry just went through that emotional ordeal you were going through; he needs to talk, and Weasley and Miss Granger are the only two people he would choose."
Lupin fell silent.
He thought of Harry, Ron, and Hermione always huddled together and whispering, and of the adventures they had shared that he had heard about.
Lynch might be right.
That unreserved trust and reliance was indeed somewhat different from that of their time, seemingly more—pure and direct.
"So," Lynch concluded, his tone laced with a cold calculation, "what will Peter think when he learns that Remus Lupin, the only one at Hogwarts who might harbor even a sliver of doubt towards him or Sirius Black out of old friendship, now hates Black to the core and is extremely emotionally unstable?"
Lupin picked up where he left off, his voice low: "He'll think—not only am I not a threat, but I might even become a tool—that can be used. Or at least, his wariness of me will be at its lowest."
Lin Qi remained noncommittal: "Let's not have such high expectations yet. Let's just plant the idea in his mind that you're on the opposite side of Sirius."
Lupin took a deep breath and drank the slightly cooled cocoa in his glass in one gulp.
The sweet liquid now tasted slightly bitter.
Using Harry's trust to feign hatred disgusted him.
But the thought of the real traitor who might still be alive, and of Sirius Black who had suffered innocently for twelve years in Azkaban, forced him to suppress his discomfort.
"I hope you're right, Lynch," he finally said, his voice filled with a desperate determination.
Lynch smiled and said, "I rarely make mistakes."
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