Chapter 154: Gluttonous Snake
The conversation in the office had ended.
The table was laid out with all sorts of candy and biscuits, with a pile of torn paper boxes, the young professor generously displaying his hospitality without reservation, and under his hosting, the star reporter, who had originally been exhausted and parched, looked a bit more spirited, her panic and anger somewhat alleviated, presenting a scene of guests thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Rita swallowed the remnants in her mouth with some pumpkin juice, barely filling half her stomach.
Actually, what she most wanted to eat at a time like this was meat, or the apple pie in the paper box nearby, but as a prisoner just released from the glass bottle, she couldn’t demand too much.
The Ouroboros pattern on the inside of her arm still felt a bit unusual.
The young professor sitting opposite her had his eyes closed, seemingly sensing this mark as well.
Melvin could detect the star reporter’s scrutinizing gaze, but he didn’t care, immersed in his own world, his magic power extending toward an unknown direction, unrelated to space and coordinates, without concepts of distance, more like a world in some abstract sense.
His consciousness also extended with the magic power; in this perception, the world became boundless nothingness, without any tangible entities, filled with hazy, indistinct gray mist.
Some places flowed with silver radiance, some dim, some bright.
Consciousness gathered there, and some familiar moving pictures appeared in his mind: the foot of Mount Greylock, Broadway Street in New York, and the entrance to the Woolworth Building—these places were dim; the outskirts of Hogsmeade, the boundary between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, and Charing Cross Road—these places were bright.
“Apparition anchor points?”
Melvin seemed to have some realization.
In the world perceived by magic power, amid the vast fog, besides the scattered silver radiance, there was one pattern exceptionally clear: a constantly rotating and looping Ouroboros. Melvin’s consciousness immersed in that strand of light.
Rita felt the snake mark on her hand grow hot; she rolled up her sleeve and found the originally blurry pattern rapidly becoming clear, with scales emerging piece by piece, as if a snake was truly embedded in her arm, about to twist its body and crawl out.
“Rita, you’re very panicked. I can feel it…”
Melvin’s tone carried inquiry, his eyes still closed; his question was purely out of magical research. “We’ve already reached cooperation. What are you afraid of?”
Rita’s body trembled slightly: “The last one who did this was the Dark Lord.”
The star reporter had once done a special report on Death Eater trials and knew the function of the Dark Mark; she also had some guesses about this strange snake mark.
The Ouroboros Mark was not only branded on the surface of the skin but also connected to the soul; besides some superficial emotion sensing, it could lock onto the mark’s location. As long as this professor intended it, he could summon the mark bearer anytime, anywhere, or apparate to find the mark himself.
Melvin opened his eyes, those unsettling pitch-black pupils gleaming, then he smiled: “I don’t have any extreme pure-blood supremacist ideas, nor will I launch any bloody purges. It’s just cooperation with a peculiar witch like you, Ms. Skeeter, so I had to add some insurance. That’s all.”
Rita took a deep breath: “What do you want me to do?”
“For a short time, nothing. Go back to your life, do your original work.” Melvin said softly. “Report news, write articles, attend banquets of various high officials and pure-blood families, collect intelligence you think valuable.”
“…”
“By the way, the Daily Prophet is planning a big news story. If you go back now, you might snag a lead writer position from Editor Guffey.” Melvin smiled slightly.
“…”
Rita felt no relaxation; she sat in the chair silently for a moment, her arm with the snake mark tensing slightly: “Then… can I go?”
“Outside school personnel who want to stay for Christmas need to apply to the headmaster in advance.”
As Melvin spoke, he waved his hand, opening the room’s window, letting clean daylight shine into the room.
Rita stared blankly at the snowscape outside, her expression somewhat dazed; she remembered that night when she transformed into a beetle, it was still autumn, and unexpectedly, upon leaving the glass bottle again, it was already late December.
After a moment of distraction, she stood up, went to the window, transformed back into a beetle, and plunged into the snowy deep winter.
…
Following the method described by Madam Pomfrey, Hermione, Cho Chang, and Marietta held the potions and gathered around the hospital bed.
Cho Chang shook the mandrake-brewed potion evenly, unscrewed the stopper, and a puff of yellow-green mist rose, slowly drifting out of the bottle mouth and dissipating in the ward.
It smelled of mud, not foul but not pleasant either.
Marietta wrinkled her nose, Hermione’s gaze full of curiosity, Cho Chang acting more composed; she glanced at the potion bottle, then at Harry lying on the bed, and slowly brought the bottle near his eyes.
Harry’s gaze was still fixed on the moment of facing the basilisk, carrying a stagnant terror, his green eyes dull and lifeless.
The potion dripped into his eyes, and those eyes closed as if stimulated, like shifting from petrification to sleep.
“…”
Under the gaze of the three witches, Harry’s eyelashes trembled a few times, and he finally opened his eyes.
Those green eyes were lively and bright.
Cho Chang, acting as hospital wing assistant, handed over the bedside water cup, asking with concern: “Harry, how do you feel?”
Harry didn’t speak; he only felt sore all over, like having been trained continuously by Captain Wood for two weeks, his throat like having swallowed red-hot coals. After a cup of water, his parched body slowly healed.
Only then did he have time to look around.
The white decor indicated this was the hospital wing; he was already very familiar with it.
To his left was Hermione, looking at him with concern; beside her stood Marietta, the drama club head, whom Neville and Ron had both mentioned to him; as for the one closest… it was Ravenclaw’s Cho Chang.
A head of glossy black hair, softly draping over her shoulders, with slightly curled ends; mysterious and elegant black eyes, and when she smiled, her brows and eyes curved, involuntarily reminding one of the new moon seen in astronomy class, gentle with a touch of liveliness.
Though Harry had just awakened and felt unwell all over, he couldn’t help noticing how extremely cute she was; when he took the empty cup from her hand, the girl smiled slightly, making his heart thump loudly.
He thought this probably had nothing to do with his injuries.
“Harry! The basilisk was defeated by us! Gilderoy Lockhart was defeated by us too!” Hermione said cheerfully; she probably thought Harry cared about what happened afterward and chattered on endlessly.
“…No one expected Lockhart to be a memory-stealing fraud. Good thing we had Marietta.”
“…Professor McGonagall arrived at the Chamber of Secrets and had us moved back to the hospital wing. Professor Levent procured mandrake from Budapest; Madam Pomfrey and Snape are still brewing potions.”
“Madam Pomfrey plans to wake the petrified students together once the potions are done, but after our constant pleading, she agreed to give us a few bottles early. Luckily, the application method is simple.”
“The other two bottles are with George and Fred; they took them to save Percy and Ron. They didn’t go home for Christmas this year either.”
As Hermione explained, cheers from the twin brothers indeed sounded from not far away, followed by Percy’s scolding to keep quiet in the ward, then Ron’s scream, and Ginny’s faint sobbing.
Cho Chang and Marietta exchanged a glance, then looked up with a smile: “You must have a lot to talk about. We won’t disturb you.”
The girl nodded and smiled as she left, brighter than the winter day outside: “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye…”
Harry felt lost and wistful; the excitement was theirs, and he only found it noisy.
…
December 23, one day before Christmas.
Melvin woke in the bedroom; the air was warm and dry, the charcoal and firewood in the fireplace reduced to ashes, a white snake coiled in the wizard hat at the bedside, head buried under its tail.
He pushed open the window to breathe fresh air, then washed up and changed clothes.
When he came out of the bathroom, the young snake had woken too, flicking its tongue rapidly to sense the surroundings, then lifting its head toward him, half its body raised.
“Hiss…”
This was the sound of air passing through the throat and mouth during rapid exhalation.
Other snakes lacked vocal organs and could only make this sound, but the Horned Serpent could speak human language; this young snake had hatched nearly a week ago and still only made this sound, not even able to make syllables like “ah” or “oh.”
It wouldn’t be a mute, would it?
Truly worrisome.
Melvin sighed while tucking the snake into his pocket.
“Hiss?”
The white snake poked its head out to look at him, its snake face expressionless yet conveying puzzlement.
“You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”
Melvin pushed it back in: “I’ll ask Professor Kettleburn and Hagrid later. I don’t know when you magical creatures can start talking. Can’t wait one or two years, can I? I don’t know how Hagrid taught Aragog back then…”
“Hiss hiss…”
The white snake didn’t understand but imitated his tone by hissing.
After a night of fireplace heat, the room was dry; the snake scales felt cool to the touch. Melvin coiled it a couple more times casually: “Once you learn to talk, in a couple years I’ll send you to school, so you don’t end up like your mom, illiterate at hundreds of years old, unable to even explain a magic principle clearly.”
“Hiss!”
The white snake still didn’t understand, but the prophecy-gifted Horned Serpent was warning.
During the holiday, laziness was inevitable; he dawdled getting up and washing, delayed further by Yurm, and by the time he left the bedroom, it was already late. The house-elf, thinking he missed the Great Hall, had delivered breakfast to the office.
Hogwarts holiday breakfast was quite abundant; the house-elf prepared his usual favorites: common milk and eggs, bread and bacon, baked beans and roasted tomatoes, with a bottle of raspberry jam.
Melvin sat at the table, and the white snake crawled out of his pocket, along his arm to the table.
Seeing its curious inspection, Melvin took a teacup, tore half the bacon, shelled an egg; considering its size, he cut a small piece with a spoon and divided it for it in front of it.
The newly hatched Horned Serpent had no interest in food the first few days, probably having absorbed enough nutrients from the snake egg and not yet experienced hunger; now it seemed to understand feeding, burying its head in the teacup, tongue flicking to probe constantly.
Its tongue touched the bacon and immediately recoiled in distaste, turning to the egg nearby.
Melvin chuckled lightly and, during mealtime, looked at today’s letters.
Some international letters and packages from too far away couldn’t guarantee Christmas-day arrival and occasionally came a day or two early; with more transoceanic friends, more early deliveries arrived.
The first had the American Ministry of Magic seal: a letter from Headmaster Fontana, with Christmas blessings on the envelope.
Greeting recent conditions and conveying blessings, the main content inquired about the Goblet of Fire Competition.
At a New York wizard gathering some time ago, Headmaster Fontana chatted briefly with Madame Maxime from France; currently, Beauxbatons had no plans to restart the competition.
Durmstrang showed some interest, but their headmaster Karkaroff wanted to wait two more years until his school’s genius player, Viktor Krum, came of age…
Melvin’s smile grew more pronounced. Who said warriors had to be of age?
Opening the next letter, it was from his assistant.
Ignoring the full two pages of complaints and rants upfront, only the last half-page was business; Claire chatted about recent events:
「…Paris Disneyland opens on April 12. I applied some of my theater magic display methods to the park; due to outstanding results and excellent tourist feedback, I’ve been promoted to Vice President and Creative Director of Imagineering.
Generous benefits, salary beyond my imagination!
Boss! My boss! If I stay here longer, I’ll really have to resign on you!」
Melvin took a sip of milk, smiled, and put the letter away, planning to reply when free.
Creative Director is good, Vice President is good; using Disney’s environment and salary to train my subordinate.
Just as he prepared to open the next letter, a pattering sound suddenly came from beside him; turning to look, it was Yurm slapping the table with its tail.
The whole snake sprawled on the table, its body bulging in the middle.
From the shape, it was a corner-missing egg.
Melvin was somewhat amused and exasperated, looking down at the platter; the egg he’d shelled was indeed gone.
He’d originally considered the young snake’s size and cut it a small piece, but who knew this gluttonous Horned Serpent, while he read the letter, had swallowed the remaining large half-egg whole.
Yurm sprawled on the table, mouth agape, revealing pink gums.
It probably wanted to whine, but its stomach was too burdened, exhalation inconvenient; it couldn’t even hiss.
Melvin felt some pity but had no good solution—couldn’t rub its belly by hand—and could only watch from the side, his mouth curving in concern.
He had wizard digestion-aid potions in his drawer, but didn’t know if they worked on Horned Serpents, and even if they did, couldn’t pour them in.
“Hiss hiss.”
Melvin, feeling pity, made the sound for it.
The white snake’s eyes rolled, full of despair.
“…”
Melvin shook his head and continued opening letters.
Seeing the name and address on the envelope, he was slightly surprised; the third letter was actually from Mr. Graves.
「Melvin Levent:
Hey, it’s me, your old friend, Auror Graves. I can imagine your surprised expression right now, because I thought long and hard before writing, but after much consideration, I still think you should know about these matters.
Before Halloween, we found some clues and raided the New Salem group hiding in Mexico; we rescued 3 little wizards who were imprisoned, but the situation isn’t optimistic. After illegally using Veritaserum on Muggles, we got info: this is just one base, New Salem isn’t only active in Mexico; they have traces in other countries too…」
Melvin flipped to the back.
Mr. Graves thought Melvin was the one who sounded the alarm and should know the case progress, but limited by Ministry of Magic secrecy protocols, he couldn’t reveal too much, only saying Madame Maxime had also spotted them in the Pyrenees Mountains.
It seemed Graves had also attended the New York wizard gathering.
「I’ll find them, I swear on Graves’s name.
Finally, Merry Christmas.」
