Chapter 119: Proper People Keep Diaries
「08.28.1992, sunny.
There are 3 days until Hogwarts opens.
Diagon Alley is still bustling and lively, Gilderoy Lockhart held a signing event at Flourish and Blotts.
As a colleague who will take over as Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor for the new school year, Professor Lockhart is not only proficient in various magics but has also completed many adventure stories, defeating Eastern yetis, werewolves, vampires, and banshees. In fact, I can’t understand why, as a recipient of the Order of Merlin, he would return to teach at the school.
I think it’s because school life is comfortable and pleasant, with house-elves taking care of meals and daily life, and the students exuding vibrant life force.
It might also be because of that boy who lived, Harry Potter. 」
The ink in the quill ran out, Melvin put the quill back into the ink bottle, and during the pause waiting for it to absorb ink, he made an expression of recalling experiences and pondering wording, but his eyes kept watching the diary.
The ink seeped along the paper fibers, slowly saturating the paper, with no abnormalities.
Melvin rubbed the quill, showing a thoughtful expression.
It seems the Tom Riddle in the Horcrux still doesn’t know who Harry Potter is.
According to Mr. Malfoy, ever since Voldemort handed him the diary to keep, over these many years, he has always remained vigilant, never trying to probe the diary’s secrets, locking it in a wooden box in the attic, not even allowing house-elves to touch it during cleaning.
This caution keeps the remnant soul unable to communicate with the outside world, preserving memories from when he was 16.
The pen tip lightly tapped the ink bottle mouth twice, shaking off residual ink, Melvin continued writing in the diary:
「As an assistant teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, this was my first time meeting Potter, he wasn’t quite like I imagined, thin and weak, wearing glasses, magic slightly stronger than his peers, but that’s it.
He can’t even use Floo Powder correctly, panicking when he mistakenly entered Knockturn Alley, nearly being abducted by dark wizards, I really can’t believe that such an ordinary student defeated the Dark Lord when he was still in swaddling clothes. 」
The ink slowly spread, still no abnormalities.
Melvin couldn’t help but frown slightly, looking at the title for the Dark Lord, suddenly realizing.
He didn’t go back to change that title, it would seem too stiff and easily arouse suspicion, he started a new line and continued writing:
「The Dark Lord, Black Magus, Voldemort and Death Eaters, such terrifying terms, when I was still at Hogwarts, these names could scare first-year students into nightmares at night, I didn’t expect it had been 12 years since their downfall, truly poignant. 」
The remaining ink on the paper still spread slowly, no trace of the remnant soul discovered.
But carefully reviewing the previous text, several passages had completely dried out, the originally ink-soaked writing leaving only a surface layer. You know, this is in mild and humid London, for writing to dry to this extent, it would take at least several days, even months in the rainy season without drying completely.
It seems some strange power is absorbing and devouring most of the ink, leaving only traces barely maintaining the letter shapes.
Faint magic fluctuations seem to be spreading out.
Melvin’s mouth curved into a faint arc, Occlumency running nonstop, the quill paused briefly, then continued writing:
「This must involve some unknown secrets, perhaps ancient magic, perhaps a powerful curse, what power exactly thwarted the most powerful dark wizard in history? Truly curious.
Unfortunately Harry Potter is not yet in third year, unable to take Care of Magical Creatures, we rarely have chances to talk. 」
Melvin packaged himself as a standard young Hufflepuff assistant teacher, curious about secrets, slightly craving power, yet unwilling to actively seek them out, just needing a good teacher to guide him.
Unfortunately the diary only had ink drying a bit faster, no other abnormal reactions.
Melvin waited quietly, without any impatient thoughts.
The 16-year-old Tom Riddle, cautious and rational, skilled at disguise and reading people, if he hooked so easily, he couldn’t have become the Dark Lord sweeping Britain later.
After confirming the ink had dried completely, Melvin calmly closed the diary and put it in the cabinet drawer.
There are still many days ahead, he has plenty of patience.
……
August 31st, 10 AM.
Melvin walked through the Hogwarts school gate, following the grounds path inward, surveying the school after two months away, focusing on the Whomping Willow, its branches swaying slowly, leisurely sunning itself.
Soon arrived at the greenhouse.
Professor Sprout wore brown-green gardener’s clothes, one hand carrying a small bucket, one with fermented dragon dung, the other with cut plant branches. With basic Herbology knowledge, Melvin saw several poisonous plants inside, the kind that put you in the hospital bed on contact.
“Professor Sprout! Long time no see!”
Melvin greeted enthusiastically, smoothly taking the bucket of fertilizer.
Already fully fermented, slightly sour-stinking smell, but tolerable.
Professor Sprout chuckled: “Melvin, Minerva was just talking about you a few days ago, saying you only return to school on the last day of holiday to slack off and avoid pre-term preparations.”
“I’m just an elective professor.”
Melvin smiled back, tone righteous, it’s not like he could return to school early like their dean to send admission letters, occasionally leading student parents around Diagon Alley.
Sprout dumped the trimmed branches into the compost pit, turned to the mandrake bed, loosening soil and burying the fermented dragon dung balls.
Melvin watched from the side, occasionally handing tools: “Professor, I brought some serpentwood branches from Ilvermorny, see if they can be propagated.”
“Serpentwood…”
Sprout paused, of course she’d heard of Ilvermorny serpentwood, immediately interested: “Quick, let me see!”
Serpentwood originates from mysterious areas in the Far East or Eastern Europe, growing in damp valleys and deep forests, named for attracting vipers to inhabit and coexist.
Serpentwood secretes sweetly scented juice, attracting other animals to lick, then vipers hidden in the treetops suddenly strike when they let their guard down. The remnants after the snakes feast become fertilizer nourishing the serpentwood.
Thus it symbolizes insidious cruelty, the heartwood can make wands, very suited to vicious dark magic. This is also why Salazar Slytherin chose a serpentwood wand.
But Ilvermorny’s serpentwood is completely different from the original, nurtured by Slytherin’s residual magic and Mount Greylock’s water and soil, nearly impossible to cut or destroy, with powerful healing effects.
Leaves are narrow lanceolate, edges slightly undulating, each about 20 to 30 cm long, less than half a palm wide.
Early autumn leaves are bluish-green, surface with cold sheen, undersides pale silvery-gray. Bark dark red to brownish-black, surface covered in scale-like cracks, silver-white sap visible seeping from gaps.
“Very vigorous life force, this season is indeed suitable for cuttings.” Sprout peeled bark to observe, pondering, “This serpentwood has good healing effects, sap treats external wounds and promotes healing, leaves detoxify, Poppy and Severus will be very interested.”
“Then I’ll leave it to you, Professor.”
Melvin was very satisfied, professional matters indeed to professionals.
Madam Pomfrey is the school nurse, free use if the whole school needs it;
Snape is Potions Master, wealthy, extort him hard if needed.
“Praise Hogwarts…”
Entering the Great Hall, Professor Flitwick was seen far off arranging the venue.
As a proactive elective professor, Melvin hurried over to help, passing banners, checking ribbon positions, greatly slowing Flitwick’s progress.
“A bit to the left, yes, a bit more left…”
“Too far, a bit right.”
“Original position after all.”
“…”
Flitwick was speechless, hung the ribbons and got down from the stool, placing candles without listening to him anymore, adjusting by his own ideas, efficiency suddenly up.
“Melvin, have you seen the student wizard registration exam results?”
“Back only two days, haven’t had time.”
“You should take a look.”
Flitwick wanted to keep suspense but couldn’t hold back, joyfully revealing: “All seventh-year students taking Muggle Studies got passing certificates, all fifth-year elective class passed, at least half outstanding!”
“Only half.” Melvin shook his head, tone regretful.
Flitwick found his expression infuriating, suddenly didn’t want to continue: “Thought about how to do third-year electives? Four houses in two classes, or all together in a big classroom?”
“Big classroom together, more convenient.”
“Tell Minerva at dinner, she’s arranging schedules.”
“Remind me then…”
“Silvanus and Hagrid back this afternoon, heard Hagrid broke his leg, wonder how he’s doing?”
“At least Professor Kettleburn’s remaining arms and legs are fine.”
“…”
Professor Flitwick paused, pondered briefly, actually found it reasonable.
……
Sunset hung on the castle tower, Forbidden Forest and grounds quiet.
Castle outer walls lit orange-red, shadows stretching longer on the grounds.
Dinner exceptionally abundant, professors gathered in the Great Hall, split into two groups by conversation, one side Flitwick et al chatting holiday anecdotes, other side Professor McGonagall slightly turning head, discussing opening affairs with Headmaster.
Dumbledore was absent-minded, clearly more interested in nearby talk.
Hagrid sat behind the high table, in his mole-skin coat, cheeks and eye sockets still bruised, right arm wrapped in bandage, slung around neck, faint dried blood and scorch marks.
A plump hound lay at his feet, fur glossy, happily sniffing around.
Hagrid’s other good hand tore off a turkey leg, eating relish.
Still not used to eating with left hand.
Awkwardly held to eye level, still needing to lean neck to bite.
“Phew…”
Grimacing through the whole turkey leg, Hagrid exhaled long, half full but neck sore, rest a bit before more.
Just right to listen to Melvin and professors chatting.
Melvin sat with Professor Kettleburn, mainly inquiring about things after he left, projection mirrors developed rapidly, Wright became guest of local wizard notables.
Floo Network upgrades not complete, but small projection mirrors already selling.
“Romanian tavern owners quickly adapted local features, launching fun fire dragon moving pictures bundled with Quidditch matches, many travelers buy as souvenirs.”
Kettleburn’s expression complex, tone emotional.
Remaking Floo Network while making projection mirrors, Wright overwhelmed, mirrors in short supply.
Because he knew Wright and Melvin, many wizards sought him, after a couple times overwhelmed Wright simply had him handle sales, attending banquets and balls everywhere, securing orders with profit sharing.
In short two months, earned more than past decade, saved for years for retirement, now multiplied several times.
Sudden wealth, bewildered mood.
And no injuries this summer holiday.
“How’s the Animal World memory moving picture?”
“Footage spliced almost done, but narration…”
“No rush, take it slow.”
Melvin nodded slightly, raised another question: “How did Hagrid break his hand?”
“Didn’t you leave a dozen jars of blue flames, with them Hagrid played happily with Norberta.” Kettleburn paused, as if recalling young self, “Later he found playing with underage fire dragon unsatisfying, took glass jars to play with adult Hebrides Islands black dragons, happened to be a dragon couple, just then…”
“…”
Hagrid somewhat ashamed, silently lowered head, quietly observed.
Saw nearby professors all staring, even Professor McGonagall turned head, face teasing smile, Hagrid flushed, dared not look up, head down eyeing Fang.
“Merlin bless, Hagrid sturdy, hit a dozen times by two black dragon tails, only one hand broken, other places just surface wounds. But his body very unique, standard healing magic weak effect, can only heal slowly.”
“Hahaha…”
Eve of Hogwarts opening, Great Hall filled with cheerful air.
……
Melvin drank two extra cups, sobered quickly by evening wind on way upstairs to office.
Corridor quiet, midnight moonlight slanting through windows, silvery glow, Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom had toilet flushing, splashing sounds. He paused a few minutes, listening.
He remembered Chamber of Secrets passage entrance was the bathroom faucet, but he didn’t speak Parseltongue, temporarily unable to open.
New school year again, diary in his hands, this year’s Hogwarts probably calmer.
Back to familiar office, Melvin sat at desk, waiting for reason fully clear, took out diary and began writing:
「08.31.1992, sunny… 」
