bacchusnovels Chapter 461 The Mission to Rita
Chapter 461 The Mission to Rita
Chapter 461 The Mission to Rita
Sean smiled, his tone deliberately relaxed: "Yes, I went to Durmstrang this summer. He's a Quidditch genius, and I'm hoping to get some information from him. I guarantee your skills will take a qualitative leap."
Qiu Zhang looked up at him, her lips trembling slightly, and finally couldn't help but whisper, "Professor Phillips, thank you! This is truly the help I needed most."
Then, as if she had remembered something, she quickly made a promise.
"I will definitely work hard and live up to your expectations."
As soon as he finished speaking, the system notification sounded in Sean's ears that the task was completed. He didn't pay attention to it, but simply raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at Qiu Zhang's face.
Qiu Zhang was still immersed in his emotions, his excitement had not subsided, but a hint of hesitation had arisen.
She bit her lip, seemingly weighing something, her eyes darting around for a moment before she finally spoke softly, "Professor—I know this request might be a bit abrupt, but…could you help me with some training for the Triwizard Tournament? I know you're very busy, but—I really need your guidance."
Sean was surprised that she would make this request.
Then, he smiled and said calmly, "There's nothing abrupt about this. As a professor, I'm actually pleased to see you being so proactive." Qiu Zhang lowered his gaze, his fingers tightening as if habitually concealing his unease.
She has never liked to trouble others, especially with issues like this, always feeling that she only asks because she lacks the ability.
But she also understood that this was an opportunity she had to seize—to bring honors back to Ravenclaw, to meet the expectations of others, and to meet her own expectations.
Is it true, as others say, that she is really worse than others?
perhaps.
But it's definitely not that they don't even have the courage to believe in themselves.
Sean didn't let her think too much, gently patting her shoulder: "Since you've made up your mind, I'll definitely help you. The first event of the Triwizard Tournament is full of unknowns. Besides training, it requires strong mental fortitude and adaptability. If you have any questions, feel free to come to me."
"Thank you, Professor! Shall we start this weekend?"
"As you wish."
Sean smiled and nodded.
As night fell, the alleyways of Hogsmeade were further shrouded in darkness by the biting wind.
Several shops had already closed their doors, leaving only blurry shadows in their windows.
In the distance, the area in front of the "Three Brooms" was still bustling with activity. Through the windows, one could see many wizards sitting around the fireplace, holding bright yellow butterbeers, their conversations occasionally broken by laughter.
However, the alley where Pig Head Bar was located was noticeably quieter.
The air was thick with the scent of old wood, mingled with a faint smell of fermenting alcohol, permeating a sense of decay and alienation. The narrow doorway leaned slightly in the night, the brass rings on the door rusted, occasionally swaying gently in the wind, producing a dull metallic clanging.
A wizard wearing a hood and a black mask pushed open the wooden door, and dim light seeped out from inside, illuminating the dark outline of the entire bar.
The air was thick with the smells of dampness, tobacco, and cheap liquor. Several rough wooden tables were scattered about, the candles burning unsteadily, their wax dripping onto the wood and forming irregular streaks. In a corner sat several indistinct figures, draped in dark cloaks, talking in hushed tones. Occasionally, someone would look up, their eyes wary.
Behind the bar, the owner of Pig Head Bar was wiping a scratched glass, his gray beard hanging down to his chest, making him seem more silent than everything around him.
He raised his eyelids to wary of the black-faced wizard who had entered, but without asking any questions, he slowly put down his cup and waited for him to speak.
"I have an appointment with someone on the second floor. Please don't disturb them."
As he spoke, the black-faced wizard pushed a few Galleons onto the bar counter. The Galleons rolled across the rough wooden surface before finally stopping beside the owner.
The bar owner glanced at the coins, then slowly collected them with his calloused fingers. He didn't count them or answer, but simply tilted his head slightly, indicating that he should go up himself.
The black-faced wizard nodded, said nothing more, and walked up the creaking stairs to the second floor.
The wooden planks were old and dilapidated, and every step seemed to make them groan.
A layer of dust clung to the wall at the corner of the stairs, and the black smoke from the burning candle condensed into dim marks in the corner of the ceiling.
The second floor was even darker than the first floor. At the end of the corridor, a door was half-open, and a faint light leaked out from the crack.
The wizard with the black mask stopped, raised his hand and knocked three times on the door, the sound of his knuckles falling was dull and rhythmic.
A brief silence followed inside, then a clear voice called out from within the door: "Come in."
He pushed open the door and stepped inside silently.
An oil lamp was lit in the room, its dim light casting long, narrow shadows around it, and the air was filled with the smell of old books and sealing wax.
Rita Skeeter was sitting at the table.
She was wearing an ill-fitting purple robe and seemed lost in thought.
"You've arrived, Master."
The wizard with the black mask removed the coin, and it was indeed—
Sean Phillips.
Sean nodded, slowly walked to the table, his gaze falling on Rita Skeeter, his expression calm.
Rita raised her head, her red lips slightly upturned, displaying her usual smile that teemed with a mixture of flattery and calculation.
"You're right on time." She tapped the table lightly with her fingertips, her long nails gleaming in the lamplight. "How's the matter at Hogwarts going?"
Sean didn't sit down, but stood in front of the table, his gaze sweeping over the pile of manuscripts on it. The edges of the papers were curled, the ink was still wet, and some names could be vaguely seen written on them.
He withdrew his gaze and said calmly, "Proceed as planned."
Rita blinked, pushed up her thin-rimmed glasses, and leaned closer like a beetle that had caught a whiff of gossip. "You know I love plans—especially the parts with hidden secrets." Her tone was playful. "So, what new information do you have to share with me today? About Hogwarts, about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, or about—something more secretive?"
As she spoke, she lightly licked her red lips and glanced in a direction she shouldn't have been looking.
Sean finally sat down and said in a deep voice, "I need you to do something."
Rita smiled slightly, resting her hands on her chin, a hint of excitement in her eyes: "That sounds interesting."
"It's not 'it sounds'; it has to be done." Sean's voice was soft, but it carried a heavy weight in this context.
Rita's smile faltered slightly, but she quickly regained her usual confident demeanor: "Of course, of course, you know I never disappoint. So, what exactly is it?"
Without making a sound, Sean reached into his cloak, took out a neatly folded piece of parchment, and pushed it in front of Rita.
Rita raised an eyebrow, her slender fingers slowly unfurling the parchment. Under the light, the ink was deep and the words concise.
Her gaze swept over the contents, and the excitement in her eyes was gradually replaced by an ambiguous expression. "Interesting, but this matter is quite risky, especially if there are other people around. This kind of problem could ruin my reputation."
Sean just looked at her without saying a word.
Rita sighed, folded the parchment again, and tapped her fingers lightly on the table. "Alright, Master. Since it's your request, then so be it. But—" she narrowed her eyes slyly, "this time, the reward will probably have to be doubled."
Sean's lips curled into a barely perceptible smile: "You'll get what you deserve."
Rita stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled slightly, and suddenly stood up.
In the dim candlelight, her figure moved with the grace of a dancer. "Then, Master, let's begin."
Sean nodded and leaned back in his chair.
Rita slowly walked behind him, placed her slender fingers on his shoulders, and began to gently massage them. These days had been exceptionally difficult for Harry.
The Slytherin wizards were humiliated for failing to be selected as champions, and silence and humiliation spread among them.
Therefore, they need an outlet for their frustrations, a goal to compensate for their sense of loss.
Harry, being a Gryffindor, was undoubtedly the most suitable choice.
Harry quickly felt the weight of this hostility.
As he walked down the corridor, he could feel those cold, sinister gazes following him like ghosts.
The Slytherin students gathered in twos and threes, whispering amongst themselves. Whenever he passed by, their giggles would abruptly cease, replaced by meaningful whispers.
He didn't know what they were planning, but he was certain it wouldn't be anything good.
At first, they only tested the waters with glances and sarcastic remarks. Draco Malfoy was clearly at the forefront of this revenge, talking at length in the corridors about how Slytherin had been deprived of their opportunities and how "some people" were simply not worthy of standing in the position of champions, and those words always drifted into his ears at just the right moment as he passed by.
Soon, things escalated.
Someone cast a curse on his textbook, causing the writing to instantly blur into black ink stains when he opened it; his schoolbag was enlarged by someone after the Transfiguration class, and the contents became a mess, making it take several minutes to find a textbook.
To make matters worse, as he entered the Great Hall, someone secretly made his chair incredibly slippery. As soon as he sat down, he tumbled and fell to the ground, causing the Slytherin table to burst into laughter.
Ron was so angry his face turned red. He stood up and was about to rush over to argue, but Harry grabbed him—he knew that was exactly the reaction they wanted. They wanted to see him furious, to see him make a fool of himself, and he couldn't let them get away with it.
Hermione frowned, dismissing the childish prank. "They're acting like kids," she said in a low voice. "But be careful, Harry, I have a feeling they won't stop there."
Hermione's deduction proved correct.
Soon, the conflict erupted in the underground classroom during Friday's Potions class—a natural home ground for the Slytherin students.
That day, as soon as Harry entered the underground classroom, he sensed something unusual.
The air was heavy, the damp stone walls exuded a chill, and the candlelight flickered on the long table, casting long, narrow shadows.
The Slytherin students had all arrived and were seated on their designated side, looking relaxed but with barely concealed malice in their eyes.
They spoke in hushed tones, occasionally glancing at Harry as if waiting for something.
Snape strode into the classroom with steady steps, his black robes trailing behind him like a rolling shadow.
He stood at the front of the class, scanning the crowd, his voice low and cold: "Today, we are going to concoct a very challenging potion—the Shrinking Potion. The recipe is written on the blackboard; follow it."
As always, he offered no further explanations, not even a hint of guidance, as if the class was merely a test of the students' patience.
Harry looked down at the blackboard and began organizing the materials, while Ron beside him muttered under his breath, "I bet the Malfoys are up to something."
Harry didn't reply; he had the same feeling.
But they had no choice.
Sure enough, things started before half a class was over.
Harry was intently stirring the potion when suddenly a stench erupted from the cauldron, nearly making him take a step back. It wasn't the smell of shrinking potion—normally it should have a slightly bitter taste, not this pungent, putrid odor.
Harry frowned and looked down. The potion, which had been fading, had turned into a strange purplish-black color and was as thick as spoiled swamp mud.
"Potter," a gloating voice came from behind. Harry could guess who it was without even turning around. "Looks like you can't even handle basic Potions class. No wonder you can only become a hero by luck."
Malfoy's tone was casual yet barbed, and some people at the Slytherin table chuckled softly.
Pansy Parkinson exaggeratedly covered her nose, pretending to vomit: "Oh my god, what is this? Failed slug juice?"
Harry gripped the spoon handle tightly; he was certain his potion recipe was correct, but there was no point in discussing it now.
Hermione had already begun rapidly examining his materials, while Ron clenched his fists, his face flushed red: "You guys did this, didn't you?"
"Don't talk nonsense, Weasley." Malfoy smiled slightly, leaning lazily against the table. "How could we possibly do such a thing? Potter's potions skills are notoriously terrible, aren't they?"
Snape finally raised his head, his cold gaze sweeping over the messy table.
He approached Harry's cauldron, his gaze lingering on the purplish-black liquid for a moment before he spoke slowly, "Potter." His voice was deep and cold. "It seems you not only know nothing about potions, but you also intend to use them to poison the entire classroom."
A chuckle came from Slytherin's side, and Harry's stomach sank.
Without a doubt, he knew what was going to happen next.
"Deduct from Gryffindor—" Snape's lips curled into a cold smile. "Twenty points."
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