Chapter 138: Professor Mcgonagall Won’t Blame Me, Right?
A dark red-black mark, slightly larger than an adult wizard’s palm, was branded on the Acromantula’s limb, with a pattern of a skull spitting a viper from its mouth.
Melvin’s wand was casually pressed against the giant spider’s head, unconcerned with its reaction, as he half-squatted down, examining the mark by the light of the surrounding floating blue flames, his pitch-black eyes gleaming brightly, occasionally showing a thoughtful expression.
Aragog, who had branded the mark, was crouched on the ground, its black ash bristles standing on end, its other seven spider legs trembling constantly, making clicking sounds together with its mouthparts.
Melvin gently stroked the mark on the forelimb, the surroundings all smooth carapace, the mark feeling slightly rough to the touch, with a frosted texture, as if it had been ground on with something.
The skull and viper’s eyes gradually dimmed in their eerie green glow, no longer as bright as when the spell had just been cast to brand it.
The Dark Mark is not just a tattoo on the body’s surface, but a magical mark on the spell’s target, bound to the marked object’s soul. It can be seen as a communication system between Voldemort and the Death Eaters, used to mark locations, transmit warning information, and verify identity.
The Dark Mark created by Voldemort contains his unique soul and dark magic power mark, which Melvin cannot imitate; what was branded on Aragog is just a pattern with simple functions.
Headmaster Dippet was right to refuse Senior Riddle a teaching position back then; he was not a qualified professor.
Melvin examined the mark and said in a low voice: “The foundation of this tattoo has already been built, the core part is still empty, and as long as Voldemort makes a comeback, it can easily be filled. But you don’t need to worry; he wouldn’t deign to brand the Dark Mark on beasts like you.”
Aragog tremblingly raised one foreleg, its other seven legs even splayed on the ground, not daring to answer.
“Hagrid was still young back then, but I heard him say that every day after class he would tell you the knowledge learned in class, Dumbledore was the Transfiguration Professor at the time and always nagged about principles of how to be a person and do things, and he would read father’s letters to you…”
Melvin put down its foreclaw, withdrew his wand, and asked: “You should have learned something from all that, right?”
Hearing the wizard’s question, the elderly Acromantula once again recalled its childhood life in that castle, in that cupboard.
To it, Hagrid was a qualified keeper; from hatching out of the eggshell, it could be fed full on breadcrumbs left from the dining table, later needing meat patties, steak, raw meat with blood… Hagrid risked being discovered, telling his roommate that he was big and got hungry easily, pocketing food to bring it down.
Caring for a young Acromantula took up almost all of the little wizard’s spare time; Hagrid treated it as a friend, and since Acromantulas could speak human language, he would unconsciously talk about class matters, and Aragog did learn many things wizards call knowledge.
How to deal with dangerous creatures in the Forbidden Forest, how to communicate with gentle magical creatures, how to store food, what kind of nest to build in the wilderness in winter…
In the first few years of living in the Forbidden Forest, this knowledge helped the entire tribe a lot.
Occasionally they would talk about Hagrid’s parents; his mother was a giantess who abandoned him and his father after giving birth to Hagrid. His father was a short wizard who jumped right onto the cupboard when he received the Hogwarts admission letter.
Later he died, in Hagrid’s second year, which was the year it hatched.
When Hagrid talked about these things, he always shed tears nonstop, crying and laughing, which was annoying.
Later when he was expelled from school, Hagrid said it was good his father died early and didn’t hear about him being expelled.
There was a time when Aragog had looked forward to such family affection, but later Hagrid found it a wife, and in one go it laid over a hundred eggs, hatching a full nest in three months.
To feed these little ones, it shuttled through the depths of the Forbidden Forest all day, fighting dangerous creatures, tricking gentle magical creatures; once it almost provoked a unicorn and was chased by two tribes together, only barely covered up because Hagrid pleaded for it.
Then winter came, half the nest of spiderlings froze to death; Aragog didn’t feel heartbroken or sad, nor did it shed tears like Hagrid; it even felt much relieved and summed up a principle: don’t lay and hatch eggs in autumn.
What it learned from humans was probably these things.
Aragog buried its head in the ground; it couldn’t see, just using this action to show it didn’t dare resist, trying not to anger this young but somewhat sinister professor.
“Similarly living in the Forbidden Forest, the centaurs and unicorns already have their own civilization, while you Acromantulas can only be savage beasts.” Melvin shook his head, not expecting any insightful answer; he just tapped that foreleg with his wand.
“Crack…”
The hard carapace snapped with the sound, causing the Acromantula to convulse in pain, yet it still lay prostrate, not daring any excessive movements.
The spider leg fell to the ground, rising orange-black flames; the carapace and flesh turned to powder in the quietly burning Fiendfyre, the dark red Dark Mark flickered for a moment, then turned into a puff of black ash smoke and dissipated without a trace.
“From now on, keep your tribe from harming any human children, or you and your descendants will be thrown into this pit and burned to ash, got it?”
Aragog endured the intense pain and respectfully said: “We obey your command.”
It lay prostrate waiting for a moment, hearing no sounds around and no vibrations in the webs; it knew the professor had probably left, so its spider legs slowly pushed up, starting to move.
…
【Flames Blaze】
【Whirlwind Sweep Clean】
The depressed nest echoed with the little witch chanting spells.
Flames fueled by magic power landed on the giant spider’s body surface; the dry, dense black ash bristles ignited instantly, bright orange flames flowing along the carapace gaps, then igniting the soft head and abdomen, the skin charring brown, flesh mangled, with a scent like protein being roasted.
The aroma of roasting meat filled the air, wails and roars drowned in the sounds of limbs clashing; dense webs assaulted from all sides of the steep slope, giant spiders who hunted year-round in the Forbidden Forest hid behind the webs, poised for pouncing strikes, waiting only for the three little wizards to be entangled before rushing up for a feast.
No webs fell on the three; when still some distance away, these webs were ignited.
Whirlwind carrying flames swept more webs and spiders, building a circular fire wall; not large in area or momentum, but reckless spiders crashing into it were like moths to flame, igniting and wailing in panicked retreat.
Occasionally a lucky spider broke through the blockade, immediately repelled by Repelling Charms, some dizzy, some with shattered carapaces.
【Repel Enemies Three Feet】
Harry and Ron’s faces were lit by the firelight, one with a determined expression, the other pale, eyes twitching at the corners.
“Insects all fear fire, these spiders too!” Harry repelled two lunging giant spiders, “Hermione, the hair on them ignites easily, so they fear flames; we slowly move the fire circle and break out!”
“Spiders are arthropods.” Hermione manipulated the whirlwind, controlling the direction of the fire’s spread.
“Now’s not the time to correct me!” Harry said helplessly.
“Breaking out is impossible; this nest’s steep slope is hundreds of meters, it’d take us half an hour to climb, and outside we’d still face their pursuit.” Hermione tried hard to stay calm, “We push inward, rescue Professor Levent; only he can get us out.”
“But his wand is broken.”
“Professor Levent can do wandless spellcasting!”
The depressed nest echoed with spell incantations; mist rapidly dissipated, dry acrid smoke filled the air, the Acromantula group gradually stabilized, no longer recklessly charging into the fire waves.
Limbs clashing made regular clicking sounds; an unsettling atmosphere gathered at the periphery, all three feeling the pressure.
“Careful! They’re digging!” Harry and Hermione shouted simultaneously.
The flame barrier was breached.
Like a sudden summer downpour, dirt and stones pattered down, converging from all sides to the central pit bottom, breaking through the flame-consolidated safety circle.
Giant spiders clung to the steep slopes, hook claws at the ends of their spider legs like shovels, digging up dirt clods and hurling them down from above; flames couldn’t ignite the dirt, which covered the burning webs, extinguishing the burning barrier.
After two or three uneven rounds of hurling, the concave ground bottom thickened by several feet, piling a flat platform.
The three little wizards were like fragile lambs, exposed defenselessly before the dense Acromantulas.
Though flame embers still glowed, Hermione felt chill envelop her body, staring blankly as the giant spiders slowly closed in, truly feeling their weakness, their powerlessness.
Thinking they could do what even Dumbledore couldn’t, uncover the truth of Moaning Myrtle’s murder, restore Hagrid’s reputation—but reality was they could do nothing; without professors’ help and guidance, they could only become beasts’ dessert.
“We’ve implicated Professor Levent.” Hermione muttered softly.
Harry and Ron beside her didn’t hear clearly; they could only hear their own heartbeats thundering, slowly merging with the clicking from the giant spiders, making it hard to breathe.
“Our wands aren’t broken yet; we can’t give up like this!” Harry suddenly roared, “Hermione, you handle the spiders this side; Ron, you watch that side—one direction each, we break out!”
Hermione’s lips slowly pursed, gripping her wand tightly again.
Ron was somewhat stunned, mouth agape, not voicing his inner discouragement.
By now the spiders had closed to the pit-bottom platform, approaching slowly but resolutely, their eight head eyes cruel and vicious, mouthparts gleaming with cold light.
【Repel Enemies Three Feet】
Emerald green light bloomed again.
Spells flung out with all their might and no reservation whistled with air-tearing sound, smashing straight at nearby spiders; carriage-sized beasts were flipped and sent flying, but more spiders surged up densely.
Late at night, the first half of the battle had already drained most energy; fully casting such spells squeezed every strand of magic power from their bodies; the three little wizards soon exhausted, vision blackening.
Harry held out to the end; he vaguely heard his friends collapse beside him, then he too fell backward, vision blank, seeing nothing, only instinctively releasing Repelling Charms.
The spiders finally closed in, mouthparts and foreclaws clashing especially clearly.
Harry slowly lost consciousness, pupils dilating.
Acromantulas bit toward the little wizard’s tender neck, slaughtering and bleeding—this was learned from humans.
A click, as if hitting an unbreakable barrier.
The spider’s eyes showed human-like confusion; after a brief hesitation, it bit toward the abdomen, planning to gut first, but the sharp mouthparts were blocked again.
That was the Iron Curtain!
The transparent invisible Iron Curtain suddenly expanded, flipping all Acromantulas in the concavity.
…
“Good heavens! What torment they suffered! All magic power in their bodies squeezed dry, not a drop left.”
“Poor children; even in wartime, few wizards tire like this.”
“Look at them, frowning even in sleep; they’ll surely have nightmares, tormented even in dreams.”
Three white beds stood in the middle of the Hospital Wing ward, surrounding them were the headmaster and the young professor; Dumbledore wore half-moon glasses, just back from the lounge, still in blue pajamas, beard tied with a pink ribbon.
Melvin could only stand by the beds, making space for Madam Pomfrey to treat, pouring several bottles of foul-looking potions, then casting spells on their abrasions; seeing them still frowning in nightmares, the matron poured another bottle of Draught of Living Death.
Only then did the little wizards’ brows slowly relax, falling into sweet deep sleep.
“This afternoon Professor Sprout and I were in the greenhouse, ran into them going to play with Hagrid; I followed and heard them planning to ask Aragog about things back then…”
Melvin briefly recounted the events, appropriately omitting unimportant details: “I didn’t intervene much, let them feel real danger, and conveniently warned the Acromantula tribe.”
“Feel real danger! Is that something a professor should say?” Madam Pomfrey grumbled lowly, full of resentment toward him.
“Appropriate setbacks help them grow; only knowing pain do they learn to protect themselves, and cherish more after wounds heal.” Dumbledore took it lightly; after all, the three were just overtired, no serious harm.
He sighed softly: “Back then Hagrid raised Aragog in the Forbidden Forest; the Centaur Tribe strongly opposed, but I couldn’t find a better place, so I dragged it out; their breeding speed is fast, and by the time we reacted, the Acromantula tribe had grown large, hard to relocate; the centaur elders complain to me every time they see me.”
“…”
Melvin was noncommittal; he didn’t think the headmaster couldn’t move a spider tribe if he wanted—who knew what the old headmaster thought.
Dumbledore stroked his beard, looking to the young professor beside: “Hope they don’t miss tomorrow’s Quidditch, or this lesson will hurt even more. What do you think, Melvin?”
“Quidditch?” Melvin was stunned, “If the match is lost, Professor McGonagall won’t blame me, right?”
Dumbledore spread his hands, indicating he didn’t know either.
Melvin involuntarily fell into thought.
On one side the Slytherin team, he encouraged Draco to self-recommend and replace the original Seeker by ability.
On the other the Gryffindor team, he took their ace player on an adventure, exhaustion and coma possibly missing the match.
Professor McGonagall wouldn’t misunderstand him, would she…
