Chapter 155: In The Papers
This year’s Christmas holiday was much livelier than previous years.
The petrified students woke up one after another, choosing not to go home but to stay at school for the holidays.
They chased each other around the castle all day, skating on the pitch when the weather was clear. Considering their heroic performance in uniting to defeat the basilisk, the professors were very tolerant of their chasing and playing, but these little wizards were starting to get out of hand, even trying to run into the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid caught them and brought them back, Professor McGonagall scolded them, and then they switched to exploring the secret rooms and secret passages inside the castle.
During the holiday, a group of students ran around the castle, poking here and there, checking for hidden mechanisms. Poor Professor Flitwick’s decorated ribbons and holly were messed up by them, always requiring rework.
Until Christmas Eve, the Great Hall’s decorations were still not finished, so Professor Flitwick had to pull in others to help: the three deans, Melvin and the other professors, caretaker Filch and Mrs. Norris, all called in.
Melvin held a bright red streamer and hung a crescent-shaped ornament on the Christmas tree, turning his head to ask, “Professor Kettleburn, why did you decide to stay at school for Christmas this year instead of going to Romania to see fire dragons?”
“I saw enough of them over the summer vacation, don’t want to see them for a while, staying at school to see more of Hogwarts.”
“That sounds a bit sentimental.”
“I’ll be retiring in half a year, it is a bit sentimental.”
Kettleburn had only one arm, struggling to hang the ribbon on the fir tree, his pinky finger holding a five-pointed star ornament, standing on tiptoe with his crutch while placing it, showing perseverance amid hardship, and sighing, “It’s been sixty or seventy years.”
“Yes, I remember when I was first an assistant teacher, we decorated the Great Hall like this too.” Professor McGonagall softly agreed from the side.
“…”
Melvin was too young to join in on this reminiscing about the passage of time, so he walked over to Hagrid and asked him to move the fir a bit to the right: “Hagrid, when you hatched Aragog, did you keep it in the cabinet the whole time?”
“Yeah, it was very obedient.”
Hagrid exhaled deeply, shoulders sinking, then lifted with force, hugging the sturdy fir and moving it to the right.
“Obedient?”
Melvin raised an eyebrow: “At what age could it understand you? And how did you teach it to speak?”
“Less than a month, I think, I don’t remember clearly.” Hagrid scratched his head, “After feeding it a few breadcrumbs, Aragog could understand me, no need to teach it, at one month old it could already chat with me, it was really smart.”
“…”
Could spiders be smarter than snakes?
Melvin couldn’t help but fall into thought.
His coat pocket was nudged open by a short horn, the young snake poked its head out, eyes darting around curiously, tongue flicking nonstop.
…
London, south side of Diagon Alley, Daily Prophet head office.
“Rita, you came back just in time…”
Barnabas Guffey had a steady voice, an amiable smile as he walked through the office aisle, greeting several passing editors along the way.
Given the special circumstances of the Hogwarts news, the newspaper editor-in-chief used Galleon magic to forcibly end the holiday, recalling several core editors and reporters to carefully prepare the front-page story, planning to explode across the entire Christmas.
The Ministry of Magic had no union, and with generous pay, the editors and reporters were all grinning, happy to work overtime.
The newspaper office was at the edge of Diagon Alley, right across from Flourish and Blotts bookstore, both in publishing, one cold and rundown, the other bustling, the Daily Prophet now filled with a tense, busy atmosphere.
Rita, freed from confinement and after some rest, looked less flashy and refined than before, much plainer, walking beside editor-in-chief Guffey, gazing at the busy newspaper office, sometimes showing a dazed expression.
Barnabas pushed open the office door, about to introduce the news without much thought, but glanced at Rita again, confirming she hadn’t brought that fabricating quill, and showed a satisfied look.
That Rita Skeeter who only knew how to chase headlines and sensationalism had finally changed a bit; her old ways boosted sales but ruined reputation, mere tactics of third-rate writers and reporters.
True star reporters had to think longer-term, with more subtle methods.
“Besides the school professors and students’ parents, only we know the whole matter, it’s definitely exclusive news, as long as the manuscript is eye-catching enough, subscriptions can double.”
Barnabas briefly explained the situation, recounted the general course of the news, then introduced the newspaper’s special feature plan: “The event itself is special enough, we hardly need to stir emotions, just let readers get curious and learn part of the truth…”
Rita nodded, pondering.
“Whether Hogwarts School or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, try not to create disputes. The Daily Prophet has built some reputation, but compared to them, we’re insignificant; better not focus attention on them, focus on the students instead.”
Barnabas pulled out the organized materials and handed them over: “These are some already written manuscripts, polish them in your expert style, downplay the presence of the school and Ministry.”
“…”
Rita was a bit stunned.
The newspaper’s special report this time seemed completely different from before.
…
Theo’s Fort, Oak Barrel pub.
Old Will dragged his lame leg back to the counter, about to wipe wine glasses to pass the time, when he heard an owl flapping wings from the back courtyard, probably some package arriving.
He limped through to find it was an owl delivering newspapers.
“Today’s evening newspaper…”
The Oak Barrel pub’s customers were mainly Aurors and Ministry staff, who paid close attention to news and had a habit of reading newspapers; even many came to the pub mainly to discuss news with others.
Until projection mirrors appeared and Quidditch matches and moving pictures became popular, fewer people read newspapers and discussed news.
Newspapers of the day were provided next to the counter, a free added service.
Mainstream newspapers were subscribed to, 29 copies of the Daily Prophet, not expensive at 1 Knut per day, just one silver sickle, enough for half a month of Flame Whiskey.
Old Will opened a stack of《Daily Prophet》 and placed them on the shelf by the counter, about to turn back to wipe glasses, when he saw the front-page headline and grabbed a copy for himself.
「Hogwarts founder Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets opened, 37 students together defeated the basilisk!」
Soon other customers gathered, took copies after seeing the headline, quickly finishing the《Daily Prophet》, others crowding behind to read over their shoulders.
In a dozen minutes, the whole pub was buzzing.
Many wizards reread the content, chattering in discussion.
“Didn’t Salazar Slytherin die nine hundred years ago?”
“Isn’t the Chamber a legend story?”
“Hasn’t the Gaunt family died out?”
“How did it suddenly pop up?”
“…”
Chamber opened again, basilisk awakened, dozens of students risking petrification to fight the basilisk—how did it sound so fantastical?
Old Will flipped through the newspaper, pouring himself a glass of Flame Whiskey.
…
Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor.
Lanterns floated out of the foyer, drifting through the garden, illuminating bright red ribbons and star-moon projections, gorgeous and splendid, extremely beautiful.
The entire manor’s night was lit up.
Most of Malfoy Manor’s house-elves were busy in the kitchen preparing for the upcoming Christmas banquet; even without invited guests, the Malfoy family’s Christmas banquet was the grandest.
In the second-floor study lit by candlelight, firewood blazed in the fireplace, two figures sat on the sofa.
The adult wizard in the main seat wore robes, platinum blond long hair, a somewhat gloomy but handsome face, an exquisite-base wand at his waist; opposite him a similar but younger little wizard, twelve or thirteen, with a receding hairline.
“Potter, Diggory, Ekko, the Weasleys’, Flint’s Marcus—all on there.”
Lucius frowned slightly, displeased: “Draco, why isn’t there you?”
Draco was absent-minded, wanting to go play in the garden and see the peacocks: “They’re all in the Drama Club, joining requires an interview, I didn’t fill out the application form.”
“Who’s the faculty advisor for the Drama Club?”
“Professor Levent.”
“Then why didn’t you join?”
“Why should I? Perform on stage?” Draco was indignant, “Didn’t you say Malfoys should stay behind the scenes, not show off in public, that’s for fools?”
“…”
Lucius fell silent; he had indeed said that, ancestral Malfoy teaching.
He waved his hand, signaling Draco to go play, but Draco stayed in the study, reading the entire report thoroughly.
“Slytherin… basilisk…”
Lucius couldn’t help frowning; though the news didn’t mention Levent, he still felt it all tied to that professor, even to that diary.
Involving the Dark Lord’s secrets, Draco not participating might be for the best.
…
Devon, outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole village.
“Amazing! Ced! On the newspaper!”
A ruddy-faced middle-aged wizard sat in a chair, his short brown beard shaking with laughter, unafraid of tearing the newspaper, happily unfolding it to show his wife and son opposite.
His wife’s face also beamed with a bright smile, proud of their son, but with some reproach and worry.
Mothers always didn’t want their sons involved in such dangerous actions.
Cedric’s smile was somewhat helpless; his parents were great in everything, but this praise was hard to bear, not just at home but in front of others too.
He had a premonition that in all social occasions this Christmas holiday, he’d be his father’s talking point.
Cedric sighed and explained, “It’s not just me, all the Drama Club students, and Harry, Hermione and Ron, everyone contributed.”
“Our Ced is always so humble, always the gentleman.”
Amos Diggory was even prouder upon hearing this, “The newspaper says you were the main force, stabilizing confidence at key moments, directing and organizing the attack—that’s wisdom, fearless against the basilisk—that’s bravery, and so many rushed in, only you avoided petrification to go home for holidays, others might still be in hospital beds; anyone can see who was the greatest hero of this battle!”
“Harry and they were the ones who uncovered the truth, and…” Cedric’s eyes were extremely helpless, “Father, I told you, I messed up against the basilisk, voluntarily petrifying against its gaze was the right choice, the taste of all bones breaking is awful.”
“Yes, but you were out of hospital first, right?”
Amos Diggory shook his head, flipping through the newspaper repeatedly, very disappointed there were no pictures with the front-page news.
…
「…Hereby, we pay the highest respects to the young warriors who defeated the basilisk above.」
An elderly witch sat by the hospital bed, the wizard hat with vulture specimen on the bedside table, her white hair neatly combed into a bun, her aged voice trembling slightly as she read.
This was the fifth floor of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, inside a sealed ward, housing patients unable to care for themselves, including her son and daughter-in-law, former Auror couple.
Frank Lumbardons stared blankly at the quilt on the bed, face pale, body swollen.
Alice Lumbardons fiddled with her hair; under forty, hair already white, face thin and haggard, eyes bulging.
Augusta Lumbardons closed her eyes, fine wrinkles squeezing together on her face.
That night ten years ago, Voldemort mysteriously disappeared, the world celebrating hard-won peace, but this couple was captured by crazed Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange tried to force Voldemort’s whereabouts from them, torturing them with the Cruciatus Curse until they lost their minds.
Neither could understand her reading: Slytherin, Hogwarts, basilisk—meaningless sounds to them now, like the babbling from other patients.
Only at Neville’s name did Alice’s eyes light up slightly, looking around, not seeing the chubby figure, then disappointedly lowering her head.
Augusta Lumbardons saw a candy wrapper clutched in her hand.
…
Newspapers rode on owl wings into wizards’ homes across Britain, and into the Ministry.
As Britain’s only wizard government, the Ministry couldn’t take collective holidays; to prevent emergencies, each department had staff on duty, and in the dull holiday, reading the paper was a rare pastime.
The Floo Network Administration office was the same.
“As Drama Club leader, Marietta Ekko persisted to the end, didn’t back down from Lockhart’s threat, united with two other students to successfully defeat Lockhart…”
Mrs. Ekko read the content aloud, though just a short paragraph, seeming unable to get enough.
The desk lamp shone brightly on the desk, illuminating the unfinished proposal manuscript, revealing「Floo Network」「projection mirror」「upgrade」 and such words.
