bacchusnovels Chapter 444 You'll find out, Weasley
Chapter 444 You'll find out, Weasley
Chapter 444 You'll find out, Weasley
It was a week later when Hermione heard about Professor Phillips from someone else again.
That day, the Hogwarts Express was traveling through the vast wilderness. Outside, it was pouring rain, and the raindrops were like thousands of arrows, violently hitting the windowpane and making a piercing sound.
The view outside the window was obscured by rain and mist. The hazy distant mountains and forests seemed to be swallowed by the moisture. Everything around was gray and gloomy, as if the whole world was pressed down by thick clouds, and not even the sun left a trace.
In the train carriage, Hermione sat by the window, holding a thick book in her hands, but her gaze would often unconsciously drift away from the pages and look out the window at the endless rain.
Rainwater continuously gathered into tiny droplets on the glass, sliding down, and even time seemed to slow down and become heavy in this damp world.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" Ron sat across from her, frowning as he looked at her absent-minded expression.
He looked out the window and saw that the rain was getting heavier and heavier, the mountain streams seemed to be rising, and the trees in the valley were swaying violently in the wind and rain.
The train is like Noah's Ark, traveling on water.
Which way does it lead?
Towards life.
Hermione placed the book on her lap, let out a long sigh, and kept her gaze fixed on the rain outside the window.
"I'm not feeling well," she finally said in a low voice, almost swallowed by the wind outside. "I heard some news about Professor Phillips... He seems to have been doing a lot at the Ministry this week, arguing with Deputy Director Burns, and it's in the papers. I'm a little worried, Ron."
"Arguing with Deputy Director Burns?" Harry's voice came from the side, sounding somewhat puzzled. "What are they arguing about?"
Ron pursed his lips, put the wizard cards back in his bag, and said somewhat impatiently, "The newspaper didn't say anything in detail, but I heard from Dad that it was about the Ministry of Magic taking over some areas."
He then changed the subject, his tone becoming slightly more relaxed, "Compared to Professor Phillips's matter, I'm more curious about what Charlie and Bill said before they left."
Hermione and Harry both looked at him. "You mean, they said something strange before they left?"
Ron's expression turned mysterious. He pulled a few toffee candies from his bag and began to slowly unwrap them. "Hmm, remember when Charlie said goodbye to us before he left—" He paused, then began to mimic Charlie's tone, deliberately drawing out the syllables, "'I might see all of you again soon.'"
Hermione frowned, puzzled. "Why? Don't you all know why he would say that?"
"He said, 'You'll find out.'" Ron popped the candy into his mouth. "But what he said next was even more puzzling: 'Ah, I really hope I can go back to Hogwarts this year.'"
Harry frowned. "That's rather strange. Isn't Charlie busy at the dragon sanctuary right now?"
“Yeah, Charlie was clearly not coming back,” Ron shook his head. “Then he said, ‘You’ll find out.’ I thought to myself, ‘What? Do you think we can guess what he means?’”
Hermione's attention was completely captured by Ron's story. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she asked, somewhat puzzled, "What you're saying sounds like he's implying something. But why doesn't he just tell you directly? Why does he keep saying 'You'll find out' over and over again?"
Ron shrugged helplessly. "I want to know too! How am I supposed to know if he doesn't tell me?" Then, mimicking Bill's tone, he said in an exaggerated manner, "'You guys are going to have a really fun year, I might even take a day off to watch some of it.'"
He paused, a hint of complaint on his face, "Not only Charlie and Bill, but even my mother said the same thing—she said we'll all volunteer to stay at Hogwarts this Christmas."
"Bagman was willing to tell us something about Hogwarts, remember? During the Quidditch World Cup! But my own mother wouldn't tell." Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, "I really don't know—"
"Shh!" Hermione suddenly interrupted him, whispering. She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the cubicle next to them.
Harry and Ron stopped talking and listened intently.
Just then, a familiar, drawn-out voice drifted in from the open doorway, carrying its usual arrogance and mockery.
"...You know what, my father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts. He knew the headmaster of that school. And you know what he thought of Dumbledore—that guy loved Mudbloods too much—Durmstrang wouldn't accept those scumbags. But my mother didn't want me to go to school so far away. My father said Durmstrang's attitude towards the Dark Arts was much more reasonable than Hogwarts'. Durmstrang students really learned the Dark Arts, unlike us, learning some crappy Defense Magic—."
Hermione stood up, walked to the cubicle door, and gently closed it to prevent Malfoy's voice from coming in.
"So you think Durmstrang is a better fit for him?" Hermione said angrily. "I wish he'd go there to school sooner so we wouldn't have to put up with him."
"Is Durmstrang a magic school too?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.
“Yes,” Hermione explained, “according to the European Assessment of Magical Education, this school places great emphasis on Dark Magic.”
"I think I've heard of it," Ron mumbled, scratching his head. "Where is it? Which country?"
"It should be in the north, Norway? Finland?" Hermione put the book on the table and answered matter-of-factly, "Professor Phillips took Professor Lupin to Durmstrang during the summer, didn't he?"
"But why?" Harry asked. "Besides, why have I never heard of this school before?"
"I heard from Professor Phillips that it's because of a competition. Their headmaster invited him to give the students intensive training at the last minute because of a competition." Hermione paused. "As for why you haven't heard of this school, or even seen a picture of it in the newspapers... it's because they've been hidden."
"Don't talk nonsense," Ron said, laughing. "Durmstrong is probably about the same size as Hogwarts—how could you possibly hide such a large castle?"
“But Hogwarts is hidden,” Hermione said, looking at Ron with a hint of disbelief, as if he were an illiterate man. “Everyone knows, oh, anyone who has read ‘Hogwarts: A History’ should know.”
"Then it's just you," said Ron. "Go on—how could you hide such a large castle as Hogwarts?"
“It’s enchanted,” Hermione said. “Muggles looking at it can only see a pile of ruins, with a sign at the entrance that reads, ‘Danger, Do Not Enter, Unsafe.’”
"So, to an outsider, Durmstrang is just a pile of ruins?"
"Probably," Hermione shrugged. "Or maybe it's been enchanted with a Muggle-repelling charm, like the stadium for the World Cup. To prevent foreign wizards from finding it, it could also be made unmarkable—"
"What does this mean?" For the first time, Ron felt like he knew nothing.
Whether it was when he was leaving home or now, he seemed to have a lot of confusion about everything, which made him a little anxious—it felt like he was trapped in a cage.
"Here's the thing, you can cast a spell on a building so that others can't mark it on a map, understand?"
The train continued northward, and the rain grew heavier and heavier.
The sky was pitch black, and the car windows were covered in condensation, so lanterns were lit even in broad daylight.
Clatter, clatter, the food cart was pushed along the aisle, the aroma from it making one's appetite soar.
Harry bought a large crucible of cakes and shared them with Hermione and Ron. They started eating and chatting, and although the topic never strayed from Professor Phillips and Durmstrang, the atmosphere was much more relaxed than before.
In the afternoon, several of their friends came to visit them, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.
Seamus was still wearing his Irish badge, the magic of which seemed to be slowly fading.
It was still screaming "Troy! Mallet! Moran!" but its voice was weaker, as if it were exhausted.
Half an hour later, Hermione grew tired of their endless talk about Quidditch, so she buried herself back in her book of Standard Spells (Level 4) and began to focus on learning the Summoning Charm.
Everyone excitedly reminisced about their experiences at the World Cup, while Neville listened intently from the sidelines.
"Grandma doesn't want to go," he said pitifully. "She won't buy a ticket. Ah, that sounds really exciting."
“That’s right,” Ron said. “Look at this, Neville—”
He rummaged through the suitcases on the luggage rack and pulled out a mini rocket crossbow that he had won in a lottery.
"Wow, that's awesome!" Neville exclaimed enviously as Ron placed Krum in his chubby palm.
"You'll never be able to afford a real rocket crossbow in your lifetime, Weasley."
Draco Malfoy appeared in the doorway, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, two men of intimidating size with menacing expressions.
They both grew quite a bit taller, at least a foot each.
Clearly, they had overheard the conversation through the cubicle door; Dean and Seamus hadn't closed the door properly.
"We don't think we invited you in, Malfoy," Harry said coldly.
"What's that, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, pointing to the pig's cage.
One sleeve of Ron's formal robe dangled from the cage, swaying with the movement of the train, the lace on the cuff looking unusually moldy.
Ron tried to hide his robe, but Malfoy was faster, grabbing the sleeve and pulling it taut.
"Look at this!" Malfoy proudly held up Ron's robes for Crabbe and Goyle to see. "Weasley, do you want to wear clothes like this, huh? I mean—they were quite fashionable around the 1790s—"
"Go to hell, Malfoy!" Ron said, his face turning the same color as his tuxedo robe, and snatched the robe from Malfoy's hands.
Malfoy let out a loud laugh, and Crabbe and Goyle joined in with their raucous, harsh laughter.
"What—you want to participate too, Weasley? You want to test your skills and bring glory to your family? You know, this involves money too—if you win, you'll have money to buy some decent robes—."
"What nonsense are you spouting?" Ron asked angrily.
"Would you like to participate?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you would, Potter? You never miss an opportunity to show off, do you?"
"Either explain what you're saying, or get out of here, Malfoy," Hermione said impatiently, looking up from her book, Standard Spells (Level 4).
A smug smile flickered across Malfoy's pale face.
He ignored Hermione—the only person in the room he dared not provoke was probably Hermione—so he bypassed Hermione and launched a precise sarcastic attack on Ron.
"Don't you know? Your father and brother both work at the Ministry of Magic, and you didn't know? My God, my father told me a long time ago—from Cornelia Fudge. Anyway, my father deals with high-ranking people at the Ministry—perhaps your father's rank is too low to know, Weasley—yes, that's it—they probably never discuss important topics in front of him. You'll find out later…Weasley—"
Malfoy burst into laughter again, then gestured to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared through the doorway.
Ron stood up and slammed the cubicle door shut. The glass shattered from the force.
"Ron!" Hermione scolded.
She drew her wand and whispered, "Restore to its original state!" The shards of glass automatically pieced themselves back together into a single piece of glass, returning to the door frame.
"What a mess—it's like he knows everything and we're all kept in the dark—" Ron roared angrily. "Dad's in contact with the highest-ranking people in the Ministry of Magic." My dad could get promoted anytime—he just likes his current position. "Him! It affects my mood! No way!" Ron said angrily, picking up the remaining piece of crucible cake and mashing it into a pulp.
Ron remained in low spirits throughout the rest of the journey.
He remained silent as they changed into their school robes; and when the Hogwarts Express finally slowed down and pulled into the dark Hogsmeade station, he still wore a somber expression.
The car door opened, and a rumble of thunder echoed in the air.
Hermione covered Crookshank with her cloak, her head bowed and eyes squinting in the pouring rain.
The rain was pouring down hard and fast, as if buckets of icy water were being poured over their heads.
"Hello, Hagrid!" Harry called out as he saw a huge figure at the other end of the platform.
"Hello, Harry!" Hagrid replied gruffly, waving his hand. "See you at the party if we don't drown!"
As is customary, first-year students are ferried across the lake by Hagrid to enter Hogwarts Castle.
"Oh, I can't imagine crossing the lake by ferry in this weather." Hermione trembled.
Then, they moved slowly with the flow of people, crossing the dark platform.
Outside the station, a hundred horse-drawn carriages awaited them. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville quickly climbed into one of them, finally feeling a sense of relief.
The door slammed shut, and a moment later, with a violent jolt, the long carriage caravan set off along the path to Hogwarts Castle, splashing water all the way.
Meanwhile, inside the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the atmosphere was very lively.
Despite the howling rain and fierce storm outside, the fire in the fireplace inside the auditorium still danced warmly, illuminating the walls with its orange glow. Long tables were neatly arranged, their exquisite gold cutlery gleaming in the candlelight, and the air was filled with the aroma of roasted meat and desserts.
Various flags hung on the four walls, fluttering gently in the wind, as if welcoming the students who were about to arrive and would be reunited after a long separation.
Several professors, including Sean, busily moved between the long tables, occasionally exchanging pleasantries.
"Phillips, you're back from the Ministry of Magic?"
It was Professor Sprout who spoke.
"Yes, Professor," Sean replied with a smile, "I just returned from the Ministry of Magic. It's been a very eventful week."
Sprout looked at Sean with a hint of worry on his face. "You know, the atmosphere here isn't as... tense as it is in the Ministry of Magic. You brought back some unsettling news from there, didn't you?"
Sean shrugged. "Yes, there is a certain unsettling atmosphere, especially with how some people in the Ministry handle certain 'special situations.' You know, Professor, it's not a relaxed place. But that's not my point. The point is that Dumbledore went to the Ministry the other day and signed a contract with someone we all know, hiring him as the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts for the next semester—"