Chapter 199: Easter Banquet
Hogwarts underground first floor.
The oak door of the Potions Office was pulled open and then closed, the lock core closing with an abrupt click, the old brass hinges emitting a slight creak that echoed far in the dim and deserted corridor.
“Professor Snape, as expected of a Potions Master, even an unknown potion with unidentified ingredients was analyzed in just a few weeks.”
Melvin closed the door, a smile on his face; after all, he had asked for someone else’s help, so he didn’t mind saying some nice things. “If it weren’t for the busy Hogwarts courses, I believe you could also win the Order of Merlin through Potions research like Mr. Belby.”
The entire office was built from large strips of gray-black rock, like several hemispheres inverted and joined together, with a rounded dome ceiling of arched structure, a somewhat dim crystal lamp hanging above.
The bookshelf along the wall was made of Albanian hardwood, with a bronze-like texture under the lights, displaying countless glass jars filled with prepared transparent solutions, sealing and soaking bizarre specimens: snakes and toads, eyeballs and livers, unidentified creatures resembling primate infants.
Snape sat in the chair behind the desk, the room’s lights dim, half his body hidden in shadow.
“Are you done?” Snape’s face showed no expression, but after hearing Melvin’s words, a faint cold smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, the sarcasm undisguised.
“If you want to hear it, I can discuss Belby’s Wolfsbane Potion with you in detail, as well as my personal insights on the future development of Potions.” Melvin was also somewhat helpless; ever since their discussion on the connection between narcissus and the subconscious, no matter what he said, this professor had no good expression.
“Tell it to your pet snake when you return to the office tonight.”
Snape unceremoniously refused, lifting his head, his long-untended hair gleaming with oil. “Where did you get the potion you gave me?”
“Does the source of the potion matter? Don’t worry about where it came from; analyzing the effects is more important. I came over immediately after receiving the Bloody Baron’s message. Show me, Potions Master.” Melvin said.
Snape glanced at him, said nothing more, and got up to walk toward the storage room at the back.
Passing through a rock-built archway led to an even colder and dimmer storage room, where various bookshelves occupied most of the space, holding various animal and plant potion raw materials, as well as bottles and jars that appeared to be finished potions. The remaining space was very narrow; two adult wizards squeezed in the aisle would find it hard even to turn around.
“The potion you gave me is very peculiar; neither its color, smell, nor texture suggests any raw materials.” Snape led him to a platform that looked like an experimental workbench. “So, I could only do live experiments.”
“Doesn’t it smell like Skele-Gro?” Melvin was somewhat curious. “I also smelled rot and blood.”
Snape glanced at him and said flatly, “Plants in the rue family all smell like White Fresh; some can heal wounds, some only accelerate death. Also, describing it as rot and blood is very inaccurate.”
“…” Melvin put a finger to his lips, indicating he would no longer reveal his shallow Potions knowledge, letting Snape begin the demonstration.
Snape waved his hand, and the lanterns on the shelf lit up, landing on the workbench in front, illuminating a crude but spacious rat cage where several listless rats lay, their limbs intact, body fur shaved off, revealing pink veins.
The rats’ eyes were gray-tin colored, devoid of any spirit, their surface skin flat without undulation, proving their heartbeats and breathing had stopped.
“A lethal poison?” Melvin stared at the motionless rats.
“With such obvious color and smell, if it were merely a lethal poison, it could only be considered a third-rate inferior potion.” Snape said lowly. “The peculiarity of this poison isn’t in killing, but in denying them peace even in death.”
Snape extended his wand into the rat cage, exhaling a bit of magic power; a cluster of weak flames sprayed out, landing on these hairless rats that had lost all signs of life.
“Squeak!”
The rats emitted a piercing screech.
The rat corpses seemed to receive a strong stimulus and immediately came alive, driving their shriveled, stiff limbs to stagger away from the flames, moving slowly with a hair-raising oppressiveness.
“Inferius?” Melvin wondered.
“It does resemble those Dark Magic puppets, but the effect is slightly different.” Snape extinguished the flames, watching the rat corpses still twitching restlessly. “Inferius puppets feel no pain, have neither will nor thought, and disregard their own safety, pursuing their goal even to pieces. But these potion-made living corpses retain faint senses, fearing flames, fleeing in pain.”
It was indeed something Voldemort could do.
Melvin watched the bald rats slowly quiet down and couldn’t help sighing: “Corpses that can still move after death truly fit tonight’s banquet, Easter Eve.”
“Dreadful cold joke.”
Snape pushed the rat cage aside and took out several glass jars containing various animal corpses: dehydrated shriveled toads in tongue-extended poses, snakes twisted like vines, bald rabbits, dark-skinned hedgehogs.
These animals had dehydrated and shriveled after death, yet under some magical drive, they moved again, stiff muscles and bones twisting into grotesque shapes, inelastic skin surfaces torn, dry cold blood blackened like filth.
“I tested the duration of this potion’s effects on several small animals. On toads and lizards, their corpses could move for about half a month; for rabbits and hedgehogs, a week. For humans of that size, probably only one or two days.”
Melvin looked at him with a strange expression: “You tried it?”
“You can try it yourself.” Snape put away the demonstrated rat cage and glass jars into a wooden box engraved with Runic script on the surface. “I couldn’t analyze the specific raw material formula, so I won’t charge an identification fee. But testing the effects requires labor costs. There’s still a small half bottle of the last potion left; use it to settle the debt. Any objections?”
“None.”
Melvin had collected a whole cup last time, dividing it into about four bottles; the smallest portion went to Snape for identification, and he hadn’t planned to take it back anyway.
Moreover, the Golden Goblet was in hand, and with a friendly cooperation agreement with Riddle, he could mass-produce it anytime if wanted.
“Besides that, I have another potion I want the professor to identify.”
“…”
Snape turned warily and saw Melvin take out a test tube of potion: a milky white potion, pure without impurities, emitting a faint White Fresh scent.
With decades of experience as a Potions Master, he could tell at a glance that this potion was like the previous poison—impossible to reverse-analyze for raw materials—but its nature was completely opposite, likely some gentle healing potion.
He frowned and took the test tube, unable to resist asking: “Where exactly did you get these peculiar potions?”
Melvin showed the same smile a headmaster uses to fool students: “You’ll know later, Severus, but not now.”
Just as Snape wanted to smash the glass test tube in his face, the grandfather clock in the outer room chimed on the hour.
“Dong…”
“Dong…”
The pendulum swung back and forth, striking thin brass sheets, announcing it was time for the banquet.
The second Sunday in April, Easter banquet.
…
“It’s clearly an Easter gift from my mother—why is your chocolate egg bigger than mine?”
“Probably because Mrs. Weasley likes me more?”
Harry and Ron huddled at the Gryffindor long table, cracking open chocolate-shelled eggs, grabbing handfuls of Mrs. Weasley’s homemade toffees to stuff in their mouths, not even tearing the wrappers—rice paper anyway, they melted after a bit.
Nearby were Ginny and Hermione; the girls had also received eggs made by Mrs. Weasley, all similar candies and snacks, but each a bit larger than Ron’s, infuriating him.
The Easter banquet wasn’t as grand as Christmas, nor as big as the start-of-term or end-of-year ones, not even matching Halloween, but the magically decorated Great Hall was still splendid.
The magical dome was a summer night starry sky, huge crystal chandeliers sparkling brilliantly, multicolored candles floating in the air, their soft glow hazy as they spun and drifted, like Easter eggs.
Dumbledore in white robes sat at the high table, mild light flowing in his bright blue eyes, flanked by the four deans, elective professors nearby, goblets filled with sparkling champagne and red wine.
“Quite unexpected, both of you attending the banquet together.” Dumbledore looked at Melvin and Snape, who were two minutes late, a mild smile on his face. “I always thought you two didn’t get along well; seems it was my misconception.”
“That’s your misconception now.” Snape’s face was expressionless, his tone flat.
Melvin neither confirmed nor denied, chatting happily with Professor Flitwick after sitting; he always got along well with colleagues and all professors.
“Easter holiday ends, and the Apparition class starts soon.” Professor McGonagall nagged about work arrangements nearby.
Dumbledore personally lifted the jug to pour into her cup: honey mead from Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks, sweet fragrance overflowing. “Minerva, it’s Easter holiday now, banquet time; work can wait.”
A muscle twitched on Professor McGonagall’s cheek; she said grumpily, “Of course you’d say that; you’re not the one handling those documents or dealing with the staff.”
Knowing he was in the wrong, Dumbledore changed the subject: “Let’s begin the banquet. I remember the choir and Drama Club have programs tonight; it’s been many years since I saw the Drama Club perform.”
“That’s right!”
Kettleburn was also looking forward to the Drama Club.
Dumbledore then tapped his goblet with a silver spoon, a crisp bell ringing; students in wizard robes and wide-brimmed pointed hats stood in the space before the high table. Professor Flitwick left his seat, standing on a stool in front.
The crystal chandelier dimmed, candles circling the choir, illuminating the little wizards’ slightly nervous faces and the toads held in books.
“Ribbit… Ribbit…”
“The time has come, the time has come.
“Toad hibernates beneath cold stone,
“Thirty-one nights in succession,
“Sweat pours, turning to toxic mush,
“…”
The lyrics seemed to be the brewing method for some classical potion, mainly preparing raw materials; specific brewing details were unclear. Wizard traditional ballads had this style: eerie lyrics, but with the ethereal, melodious children’s voices, it was actually quite pleasant.
Choir ended, the sound of silver spoon tapping glass cup rang again; students in the Great Hall quieted, crystal chandelier dimmer, leaving only magical candles to light the stage.
Drama Club members could be seen lightly running at the stage edges; Marietta organized students to quickly set up scenery. Transfigured stallions and ponies shook their hooves; Cedric in silver armor gripped his lance, breathing slowly.
The hall was silent, performance about to begin.
Dumbledore suddenly realized the seating issue in the Great Hall, set down his wine glass, frowning: “Shouldn’t we sit at the house tables? From here we can only see the scenery board, no way to watch the performance.”
“If we go now, the children won’t be able to watch properly. Adjust next time.” Professor McGonagall glanced at Neville on stage, playing a faceless background board.
“We can stand at the back to watch; won’t disturb the children.”
This was Kettleburn’s last Easter banquet at school; he didn’t care about image, just wanted no regrets, to see with his own eyes the Drama Club he had once burned down return to Hogwarts.
After saying that, he slipped off the high table, running to stand at the back in the dim lights.
Dumbledore sighed regretfully, had accepted reality, but seeing Kettleburn’s action, tried to follow—yet under Professor McGonagall’s gaze, he didn’t neglect headmaster duties and stayed put.
Melvin watched the stage being set up; after all, temporary scenery without solid curtains or blockers, visible from the back too, just different angle, less optimal viewing.
“Drama Club program, haven’t seen one in decades.” A ghost by the long table said with nostalgia.
“Heard Professor Levent reformed it.” Another ghost said. “Rehearsals were intense; saw them practicing every weekend.”
“Guided by Professor Levent, must be wonderful…” The Fat Friar of Hufflepuff was very supportive.
Only Nearly Headless Nick was unhappy, holding his head and sighing: “With Drama Club back, my ghost theater will definitely be affected.”
Tiny murmurs combined, making Drama Club members’ movements more stiff; the entire Great Hall watched these little wizards, even hearing their pounding heartbeats.
“Noble spirit and strong body, summon Sir Cadogan if needed!”
Crystal lamps brightened, hoofbeats echoed in the Great Hall; Cedric in silver armor took the stage.
