Chapter 136: Have Another Taste
Grounds beside the greenhouse.
Melvin wearing brown dragonhide gloves and a gardener’s hat, turning over fertilizer with a small iron shovel.
Last week’s late-night Chamber of Secrets trip had a slight hiccup, but the final result was still good. The first contact with the basilisk—not hitting it off at first, but eventually both sides reached a cooperation intention. He is responsible for feeding food, the basilisk is responsible for helping with incubation, and they both have a bright future.
He gripped the iron shovel and kept exerting force, stirring the fermenting compost evenly. Hot steam rushed towards his face, and the smell was a bit eye-watering.
The main ingredient is imported dried dragon dung, mixed with some boiled potion waste, and a whole turkey. It is said to be the premium fertilizer that mandrakes love. The excess part was just right to use on snakewood cuttings.
Professor Sprout was busy nearby, covered in soil, her round cheeks split into a smile, gentle and kind.
This short and plump witch had the gentle and diligent character of a gardener. Her flowing gray hair was not well-maintained, and she wore a thick hat full of patches. Usually, when passing by the grounds, one could always see her busy figure in the greenhouse.
From Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall down to ordinary students, many people had been conscripted by her for labor.
Melvin originally planned to go to the Forbidden Forest to ask Hagrid for some fresh prey to take back and feed the basilisk. Seeing Professor Sprout busy, he came over to exchange a few words, and ended up being recruited to handle the compost.
“Those cuttings, I don’t know if they’ll sprout after being planted.” Professor Sprout chattered on, “The last time I did such time-consuming and laborious work was when transplanting the Whomping Willow. Speaking of the Whomping Willow makes me angry—it was hit by that flying car. It hasn’t snowed yet this year, and the Whomping Willow is already bald.”
“It’ll grow back next year.” Melvin responded without looking up. He found this work quite interesting; occasionally fiddling with it gave a fresh feeling like playing with mud.
The smell was just a bit eye-watering. Melvin snapped his fingers, casting the Bubble-Head Charm on himself and Professor Sprout, and breathing immediately became much smoother.
Professor Sprout sniffed, chuckling as she said: “Neville was originally scheduled to help me stir this fertilizer, but he suddenly told me he had to be busy with your drama club matters. Luckily you came to replace him, and these fertilizers happen to be for cultivating snakewood.”
“Lumbardons, that kid always has a bit of an inferiority complex. Last time I taught him the Summoning Charm, and after changing wands, he got a bit better. Usually when he sees me, he can greet me proactively, but he still doesn’t dare to speak loudly with his head held high.”
Melvin paused: “So this time I gave him the drama club work to let him interact more with others and speak louder.”
“He’s already much better. Second-year kids are like that when they see professors.”
Just as the words fell, a sound of hurried footsteps approached.
“Professor Levent! Professor Sprout!”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurried towards the greenhouse. They seemed about to rush right in, but upon smelling the fertilizer, they stopped immediately, clinging to the greenhouse doorway, poking out three heads, three pairs of eyes darting around.
Melvin couldn’t help but chuckle, giving the professor beside him a look.
Professor Sprout also showed a helpless smile. She had just mentioned second-year kids being shy, and here came these bold Gryffindors.
“Dinner time is almost here, you three. Not staying in the castle—what are you running out here for?” Professor Sprout asked.
“We went to find Hagrid to ask about Moaning Myrtle back then, to see if there are any new clues.” Harry answered.
The three had been inquiring about this everywhere lately, and they had asked the professors back then too. Professor Sprout was not surprised—students always do young people’s things; professors just need to remind them appropriately: “So many Aurors back then, and even Dumbledore couldn’t find out anything. What new clues can you find?”
Ron immediately felt unconvinced: “We’re planning to go ask the Acr—”
Harry and Hermione beside him were quick-eyed and quick-handed, swiftly covering his mouth, one holding down his struggling hand.
“Hehe…” Hermione squeezed out a good student’s smile, “We’re planning to ask Hagrid again. We’ll have dinner at the hut and guarantee to be back before lights out. Goodbye, professor.”
“…”
Harry and Hermione dragged the nearly suffocating Ron away.
Professor Sprout frowned slightly. Originally thinking it was just students’ detective game, their secretive behavior now made her a bit uneasy. She hesitated and looked at the young professor: “Melvin, they…”
“I happen to have business with Hagrid. I’ll follow and check.” Melvin shoveled the turned compost into the soil. After finishing this work, he slowly took off his gloves.
“Don’t go adventuring with them.”
Professor Sprout earnestly admonished. This was also a young wizard.
…
Hagrid patrolled last night and discussed beehive raiding techniques with the centaurs until late at night before returning. This morning, taking advantage of the good weather, he dragged Firenze to poke the beehive, harvesting several big swellings on his face and a large jar of honey.
At noon, he casually gnawed a few rock skin cakes, boiled a pot of ointment and applied it to his face, planning to roast meat with honey in the evening and have two drinks.
He was currently abstaining from alcohol—not drinking Fire Whiskey, but butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks, the student version without alcohol.
“Sigh…”
Butterbeer was tasty, but it was just bland.
Hagrid grimaced as he applied the ointment, grabbed Fang and roughed him up, listening to the puppy yelp, which immediately eased the pain on his face and the irritation in his mind.
“Bang bang bang!”
Urgent knocking sounded, followed by Harry’s voice: “Hagrid! Hagrid! Open up quick! We’re here to hang out with you!”
“…”
Hagrid felt the bee-stung swellings start hurting again, and his head faintly ached too: “Stop knocking. I don’t want to chat with you about things from back then. Go back.”
Outside it quieted for a few seconds, then more violent knocking sounded. This time it was Hermione calling: “We’re not chatting about back then. We’re just here to hang out! It’s almost the weekend—remember?”
“…”
Of course he remembered. Two weeks ago, Hermione said the same thing, then got him drunk at dinner, coaxing and tricking him into talking about back then, making his eyes swell from crying, and his throat hurt the next day.
Hagrid frowned, tugging at the swelling on his face, the pain intensifying a bit.
He irritably shouted: “I’m not in the mood to play now! I got stung by bees—I’m not feeling well!”
This time the three didn’t knock, only hearing the little witch chant 【Alohomora】. The copper lock clicked, and the door was pushed open.
The three surged to his side in unison, concernedly examining the bee-stung wounds, chattering and fussing over him.
“Are you okay? Is it serious?”
This was Harry, his tone and expression somewhat sincere.
“You’re an old hunter—how did you still get stung by bees? Didn’t even wear a veil hat. At Christmas, I’ll have my mother knit one for you.”
This was Ron, sounding like he was holding back laughter.
“You’re brewing this ointment wrong—too much water. Normally it should be sticky, but yours is all runny.”
This was Hermione, nagging in a headache-inducing way.
Hagrid drew in a sharp breath, stretched out his sturdy long arms to push them away, glared at the three, and made a fierce expression: “What exactly do you three want? What should be said and shouldn’t be said—you got it all out of me last time by getting me drunk. What do you want now?”
Hermione felt guilty upon hearing this, hands behind her back, eyes darting around, sometimes looking at the room furnishings, sometimes at her own shoetips.
Harry observed his expression, sighed, and earnestly said to him: “Hagrid, we’re investigating the truth of Moaning Myrtle’s death to help clear your name and appeal. Don’t you want to restore your reputation?”
“This isn’t something for you kids to worry about.”
“Alright, alright. If you don’t want to say, we won’t ask.”
“Really?”
“Really. We’re here because it’s the weekend—we want to hang out with you, hear some fresh Forbidden Forest stories.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Why not? Tomorrow I have a Quidditch match—I want you to cheer for me.”
Speaking of Quidditch, these words suddenly became believable. Hagrid gradually let down his guard, invited them to sit, lit a fire, took out the honey from that morning, prepared roast meat while chatting.
He didn’t even touch the butterbeer, only drinking water—safe and reliable.
Hagrid ate two bites, got up and walked to the cabinet: “Wait—I’ll roast two rock skin cakes for Fang to chew.”
Hermione quietly watched his movements, took out her wand and pointed at the water kettle beside her, softly chanting: 【Rabbit eyes slip slip, harp eerie, water turns to fine wine】
“…”
Harry and Ron blocked Fang’s view from left and right.
Hagrid returned, tossed two hard stones into the fire, bit into the roast meat, picked up the kettle and took a gulp, smacked his lips, showing a puzzled expression: “Why does the taste feel off?”
“Maybe the roast meat is too salty.”
“Is it?”
“Try it again?”
“I still feel the taste is off.”
“Drink a couple more gulps…”
“Hic~”
After that, Hagrid couldn’t remember the rest.
…
The sunset sank behind the castle’s hills, the sky gradually darkening.
Melvin walked on the path to Hagrid’s Hut. Helping Professor Trelawney turn fertilizer delayed him a bit—not even half an hour, so Hermione and the others shouldn’t cause any big trouble.
Wondering how their investigation was going—find an opportunity to ask later.
Appropriately speed up the progress, let them uncover the truth before Christmas holiday, then have Harry act as translator.
Now entering the Chamber of Secrets to feed, occasionally communicating with the basilisk is all guesswork. Can’t even ask about incubation progress, and the basilisk looks at him like he’s some not-too-bright creature.
He hadn’t complained about the basilisk not speaking human language, yet the basilisk complained about him not knowing Parseltongue.
Melvin thought this as he slowly arrived at Hagrid’s door, hearing a string of coaxing voices inside.
“Hagrid, Hagrid, where is the Acromantula nest?” Harry lowered his voice, like doing something shady.
Hagrid let out a drunken hiccup, sounding unclear-headed: “Professor Kettleburn said… mainly distributed in the Far East, in the mountainous areas of the Far East.”
“Oh!” Hermione sighed, taking over the coaxing, “Hagrid, where is Aragog’s nest?”
“Hic~ Can’t say, dangerous for little wizards.”
Melvin nodded slightly. After all these events, Hagrid had become more reliable.
Just as he thought this, he heard Hermione change her tack: “Isn’t Aragog your friend? He’s a kind furry kid—how could he be dangerous?”
“Mm…”
“The one who killed Moaning Myrtle back then definitely wasn’t Aragog, right?”
“Not him!”
“So his nest isn’t dangerous either. Tell me, where is it?”
“In the depression in the Forbidden Forest.”
“How to get there?”
“Follow the path inward, left at the junction, left again at the crooked-necked sycamore fig tree, follow the spiders…”
Hagrid spoke muffled and unclearly, but under Hermione’s guidance, the directions were clear and logical: when to turn, how far to go after turning, landmarks along the way—all Forbidden Forest details crystal clear, no different from the gamekeeper leading personally.
Memorized the route map in detail, then gave Hagrid a few more gulps to make him fall into a deep sleep.
Rustling sounds came from the room—probably the three moving Hagrid and cleaning up the scene.
“Let’s go—we’ll go quick and come back quick, should make it back to the castle before lights out.”
“Yeah, head back early—tomorrow I have a Quidditch match.”
Hermione and Harry, trailing behind, exchanged lines. Ron in front had pushed open the door and suddenly froze in place. The two poked their heads out curiously, also staring blankly outside.
“Good evening.”
Under the silvery moonlight, the young professor greeted them, handsome face with a gentle smile.
…
What could be more surprising than getting caught red-handed by a professor while doing something bad?
The professor wants to join them in doing something bad!
Harry and Ron’s minds couldn’t turn around, foolishly following behind the leading Hermione, quietly sizing up Professor Levent beside them, expressions shocked and uncertain.
Hermione’s mind was more flexible, not prone to crashing. In a very short time, she accepted Professor Levent joining them. While leading the way, she chatted with him cheerfully: “Professor, are you also investigating the truth from back then?”
Melvin observed the Forbidden Forest on this deep autumn night: “Why do you ask that?”
“At first, it was the projection mirror you gave us that showed past memories. Later, you’ve always been concerned about our investigation progress. Now you’re willing to go with us to the Acromantula nest…”
Hermione watched Professor Levent’s expression, trying to catch subtle changes: “The normal thing wouldn’t be to take us back to the castle and give us detention?”
Seeing the little witch’s big attitude despite her size, Melvin smiled: “My teaching philosophy is different from other professors. I can stop you from breaking school rules tonight—what about later? Flexible guidance is better than rigid blocking. I’ll take you once, and you won’t keep wanting to adventure after.”
At this point, Melvin glanced at the trio, thinking to give them a lesson along the way.
Acromantulas, 5X-level dangerous creatures—did they really think it was Hagrid’s fluffy pet?
Acromantulas can speak human language and have some wisdom—this doesn’t mean they’re not beasts. Three second-year students casually going to someone’s nest—they’re delivering themselves as dinner.
“Intelligent creatures…”
Melvin suddenly remembered something, muttering thoughtfully.
They gradually delved into the autumn night Forbidden Forest, following Hagrid’s route for about twenty minutes, veering off the path. A silent, quiet atmosphere enveloped them wordlessly. Gradually, besides snapping twigs and rustling leaves, no other sounds.
Everything that should be in an autumn night—owls and sparrows, crickets and cicadas, mosquitoes and moths—nothing.
Just trees growing denser, stars above slowly vanishing among branches, shadows enveloping.
The little witch held her wand emitting silver light, vaguely seeing under the crooked-necked tree with dense branches ahead, two pitch-black large chelicerae probing out from the shadows.
