Chapter 2811 Red Hunger (13)
Following the smell, Pomona found a piece of rotting beef in the corner of the kitchen, and she was going crazy.
"What's going on here!" she demanded of the house-elves.
The elves looked at her in fear, but no one stood up.
"It's not only unhygienic, but also wasteful. Why didn't you take it out earlier, or freeze it!" Pomona continued to question.
Still no one answered, and Pomona felt like she was singing a one-man show.
She rummaged through the kitchen again, clearing out other wasted ingredients, which had piled up into mountains.
So much food, how many people are enough to eat.
She was about to start swearing when Albus Dumbledore appeared at the kitchen entrance, so tall that he had to bend over to enter the kitchen.
Pomona knew that someone must have tipped her off, but she would not back down just because the headmaster came forward.
She waited confidently for Dumbledore to intercede for these erring people.
"Do you have any questions, Professor?" Dumbledore asked.
"A little bit." Pomona endured, and said in the most rational words she felt.
"I can see it," said Dumbledore, looking at the wasted food she had cleared.
"Have you nothing else to say?" Pomona asked.
"This is for parties," said Dumbledore.
"Excuse me, what did you say?" Pomona thought he had heard wrong.
"Did you go to the ghost's deathday party?" asked Dumbledore.
"I've heard they only invite the dead," Pomona said.
"Then you may not know that the 'food' at the Deathday party must be rotten, and the ghosts think that it can taste a little bit." Dumbledore said.
She doesn't understand.
"Put them away, someone will need them," said Dumbledore kindly to the elves.
"Yes, Headmaster," answered a house-elf.
"Come with me, Professor," said Dumbledore.
Pomona followed him angrily.
"Good afternoon." Nearly Headless Nick stood at the kitchen door and said to the two.
"What's the matter, sir?" asked Dumbledore.
"The ghosts want to put on a show this year for Halloween," Nick said happily.
"I think the students don't want to see you being executed," said Dumbledore.
"No, just a chorus," Nick said.
"You can ask Felius for his opinion. If he agrees, I have no objection." Dumbledore said.
"Thank you." Nick nodded to Dumbledore, then floated away.
Pomona looked at Nick, who was flying away. Nick was one of the few ghosts who could shuttle between the lounges of various colleges.
Ghosts can't enter the lounge unless they are "allowed" to enter, which is why ghosts have a school.
Peeves was allowed to enter the kitchen in a certain year because of the fat monk's pleading, but many directors in charge of the kitchen regretted how the previous director would agree, so it was clearly recorded in the records that only the director could see No, Peeves must not be allowed to enter the Hufflepuff Lounge.
Although the defense at the entrance to Hufflepuff's lounge looked weak, it was still a defense, and Peeves couldn't break through it, so he could only throw water balloons at the students in the corridor.
"You should be more merciful." After Nick drifted away, Dumbledore said to Pomona, "Some people become ghosts because the 'personnel affairs' have not been dealt with properly. We must treat them like people. .”
"Give them rotten food instead of tribute?" Pomona asked.
"Our ghosts like 'heavy flavors'." Dumbledore said with a smile, "do as they ask."
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Pomona found another pile of rotten apples in the kitchen, but she wasn't as angry as before.
"Send these to the Ravenclaw common room," Pomona said.
"Yes, Dean," said the house-elves, levitating a basket of fresh apples and other food, and leaving the kitchen.
Although Pomona does not provide free flowers, food is free to eat at Hogwarts, I hope no one will be disgusted.
She thought unhappily, throwing all the rotten apples into the basket.
Just looking at this basket of rotten apples makes people lose their appetite.
Myrtle was also a Ravenclaw before she died. Although she has always looked like a little girl, she is actually very "old".
Sometimes in Pomona, the Gray Lady and the Bloody Barrow meet in public areas such as school corridors, but they pass by like strangers.
She thought maybe Baron's eyes had followed Helena once, but after all they had been dead for a thousand years, even if time meant nothing to ghosts.
If you don't know life, how can you know death.
The living people take what they think is the best as a tribute to express their grief and respect for the dead.
What is the point of the opinion of the dead? If someone puts rotten things on the altar, he will be accused by relatives and friends around him.
But the feeling of the dead is different from that of the living. The wine and food that the living can eat will be eaten by the "Qi Ren" in "The Blessing of the Qi People" after they leave, and then he will go back smelling of alcohol He told his wife and concubine that he was invited to drink again.
No intoxication lasts forever. When Barrow realized that Helena would not love him, he stopped following her. At the same time, after learning that Helena was abandoned by a human, he also Didn't laugh at her like Myrtle did.
Just like unrelated passers-by passing by each other, only the shackles on his hands remind him to atone for the mistakes he has made.
A Frenchman once said this: Don’t regard specific people as spiritual sustenance in adversity, even illusory existence is better than specific people, at least you can’t be betrayed by things that don’t exist.
Gray Lady is always alone, only Nick will take the initiative to talk to her.
She didn't wear the Ravenclaw crown to enjoy solitude, she hoped to surpass her mother and achieve greater fame than herself.
Some people may wonder, how can loneliness be a kind of enjoyment? People attend all kinds of parties just to relieve this loneliness.
For those who don't like loneliness, loneliness is a kind of disaster, a kind of sadness that makes people lonely, and it falls on their own heads.
At least no one laughed at Myrtle's glasses when she was alone in the cubicle. But when she was alone, she heard someone talking.
Even Helios Black was not as handsome as Tom Riddle, not to mention that there was a natural magic in Tom's smile. The theme of their year was the sun, and he looked dark and dazzling, and the brilliance directly took the sun away.
Had Myrtle been alive, she might have been able to attend the Celestial Ball. Myrtle actually liked boys, and being an "old ghost" she would tease them, and take pleasure in them when they were embarrassed.
A happy ghost, so that the living do not feel that sense of despair and suffocation. She hoped that the ghost in Ben's house was not too bad, otherwise it would be torture to live in such a house and not see the ghost.
"Don't look in that mirror!"
She heard a woman's shrill, painful cry.
She raised her head subconsciously, but saw a black veil in front of her eyes. From the gap between the fabrics, she seemed to see a person standing in front of the mirror.
It was a gorgeous house, and the person standing in front of the mirror was wearing a red dress, with a sword on his waist, and a huge diamond on the sword.
This didn't seem to be a murderous sword, but a bloody smell rushed towards him.
This smell was supposed to make people sick, but it was mixed with a strong perfume smell, which made people feel sick and couldn't help but take a deep breath.
He raised his hand, as if he wanted to push back the black veil in front of the mirror.
"Pomona."
She looked back at Snape standing in the center of the portrait frame.
"It's time to go," he said in a low, sweet voice.
"Here we come!" She said wearily, "I promised in advance that if anyone brings up the topic of politics again, I will leave immediately."
He curled the corner of his mouth, as if he thought she was talking stupidly.
The moment she stepped out of the kitchen, she looked back at the box of rotten apples. There was no mirror in that corner.
But she always felt that there was a person in red clothes standing in the dark, like the image left by the sun on the retina, which disappeared after blinking a few times.
He took her hand and left without looking back, the oil painting of pears slowly closed behind them.
So she didn't look back and kept walking, but she kept echoing the woman's French "Don't look at the mirror!", and the voice was so harsh, it was like nails scratching a blackboard.
