Chapter 51: Christmas Feast
Eleven in the morning.
The weather was clear and cold.
Melvin sat by the window, his expression somewhat subtle.
He held a finely bound illustrated storybook in his hands, the one sent by Dumbledore《Fungus Story Collection》.
These short stories were not original content, but collected by the editor, many gathered from wizard taverns at the end of the 17th century, when the Secrecy Law had just been introduced, wizards generally despised Muggles, and these circulating stories reeked of alcohol and prejudice.
The first story came from the Jumping Cauldron chapter in the《Poet Peabody Story Collection》.
The original text told of a kind old wizard educating his indifferent son, using a jumping cauldron to make him experience the suffering of Muggles, and finally the young wizard awoke, willing to use his magic to help his Muggle neighbors.
But in this book, the originally warm and simple story had been greatly altered and twisted, and at the end, the jumping cauldron devoured dozens of Muggle villagers, and the young wizard ruled the village.
“The cauldron covered in flesh lumps slowly writhed, gurgling from within like intestinal rumination, spewing clumped substances from the pot’s mouth, Muggles melted by stomach acid.
“The blacksmith’s head, holding a hayfork, protruded from the mass of flesh, his jaw dislocated and hanging to his chest, barely distinguishable bloodied and mangled limbs; the priest’s spine twisted like a pretzel, his hands still clutching the shattered cross, they emitted wet moans.
“The few remaining villagers promised never to interfere with wizards casting magic again…”
Melvin closed the book, wanting to cast Obliviate on himself, but even with his eyes shut, those illustrations printed with developing potion still appeared in his mind.
What Grimm’s Fairy Tales story.
Doesn’t the Ministry of Magic have a publishing scrutiny system?
Melvin rubbed his brow, stood up, and left the office. The portraits on the corridor walls were also celebrating, a group of portraits gathered in the Fat Friar’s painting holding a banquet, Sir Cadogan leaning against the corner to rest, dizzy and unsure how much he had drunk.
The Christmas banquet in the Great Hall hadn’t started yet, Melvin went down to the first floor and turned right, planning to get some fresh air in the courtyard to dispel those Grimm’s Fairy Tales images from his mind.
The open courtyard was already a sheet of white, snow covering the bushes and treetops, snow piled on the stone benches, with students away, the cobblestone path through the courtyard untrodden, blanketed in thick snow that sparkled crystal-clear in the sunlight.
Professor Flitwick stood by the corridor, sometimes looking at the snow, sometimes down at his feet.
At his feet was Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat wanting to sunbathe but afraid of the cold, lying on his shoe, hind paws tucked up, front paws under her body. A section of tail wrapped around the professor’s ankle, unsure if absorbing heat or keeping the professor warm.
Melvin walked over: “Merry Christmas, Professor Flitwick.”
“Merry Christmas, Melvin, I really like your gift.” Professor Flitwick looked up to greet him, then looked down at the drowsy cat, Mrs. Norris’s eyes half-opening then slowly narrowing again, “Last Christmas was at Ilvermorny, this year at Hogwarts, how does it feel, are you adapting?”
“Hogwarts is great, the temperature here is a bit warmer.”
Melvin felt a bit nostalgic, it had been a year already.
Back then, it was still half a year before the boy-who-lived received his admission letter, the Horned Serpent was hibernating, thought it wouldn’t wake until spring next year, but on Christmas Eve it suddenly awoke from dormancy, muttering about fate signaling it to leave before spring arrived.
Wonder if that guy foresaw this scene.
The sky was clear blue, sunlight on the skin had a slight warmth, but the thick ice and snow was more biting, the chill eroding exposed skin, suddenly a cold wind blew, dissipating that faint warmth.
“Hoo…”
Melvin exhaled a puff of white mist.
The cat sprawled on the half-blood goblin professor’s shoe shivered, tail trembling tighter, front paws pushing harder underneath, this cat sunned itself not for warmth, but simply craving the rare winter sunlight, even without temperature.
“A bit cold, I’ll go in first.”
“Okay.”
Professor Flitwick responded, continuing to look down at the silly cat.
Melvin entered the room, the Great Hall already fully decorated yesterday.
Twelve tall fir trees adorned with crystal ornaments and little ice beads, golden bubbles floating at the treetops, sparkling crystal-clear, leaves flowing with faint light, exuding dreamlike colors. Walls hung with garlands of holly and mistletoe, hundreds of candles floating mid-air, candlelight flickering.
Only a dozen students stayed, Gryffindor accounting for six, apart from a few Slytherin students, the others gathered near the Gryffindor long table, watching Harry and Ron play wizard chess.
People around were all advising Harry, Ron opposite with a smug grin, looking like a hateful villain.
The other staying professors had arrived and sat, Dumbledore at the center of the high table, wearing a ladies’ knitted warm hat with a flower pinned to the brim, chuckling and beckoning him over.
Melvin walked to the high table while greeting passing professors:
“Happy holidays, Professor McGonagall, your book was very inspiring to me.
“Happy to smell tulips in winter, Professor Sprout.
“Hagrid, thanks for the beast fang.
“Headmaster Dumbledore, happy holidays.”
Dumbledore noticed the difference between his and others’, blinked, pondered briefly: “Melvin, I really like the candy you gave me.”
“Very honored.”
Melvin was very polite, ignoring the headmaster’s expectant look, not mentioning that Grimm’s Fairy Tales storybook, but looking at the empty seat beside and asking: “Where are the other professors?”
“Sybil is drunk and resting in her room.” Professor McGonagall explained calmly, “Professor Quirrell is still unwell, recuperating in the Hospital Wing, but Pomfrey is on vacation, Hospital Wing unattended, Severus volunteered to help look after it.”
“Really dutiful…”
About twenty minutes later.
Professor Flitwick followed Mrs. Norris into the Great Hall, the banquet officially beginning.
As Dumbledore tapped his goblet with a silver spoon, all sorts of delicacies appeared out of thin air, the dining table instantly piled with roast turkey, roast steaks, creamy soup, and bottles of sherry, whiskey, soda water, and various juices.
Ron’s mouth was already stuffed full of roasted chicken leg.
But Harry’s mind wasn’t fully on the table, this was his first real Christmas, amid the joy, many thoughts swirled in his head: Who exactly is Nicolas Flamel? What’s under that room on the fourth-floor corridor? What conspiracy do Snape and Quirrell have?
And who sent that Invisibility Cloak this morning?
Harry looked up while cutting steak, quietly observing the high table above, his expression turning dazed—
Hagrid, having gotten himself drunk, actually kissed Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall, usually stern-faced, didn’t mind, giggling at his jokes, her black top hat askew from laughter.
