Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 242 Old Stories of Hangleton

The next morning.

The damp chill of London already hinted at autumn. The weather wasn't too cold, but there was morning mist. The plane tree leaves along the street were a deep green. If you took a stroll around the Leaky Cauldron, you would find that outside the pub was a bustling Muggle street with heavy traffic, and behind the courtyard was a wizarding pedestrian street, as if it had been frozen in the last century.

Harry sat alone at the long table on the second floor, carrying a breakfast.

I struggled with the letter until late last night, but after sending it, I felt completely relieved. I was no longer bothered by the Dursleys' affairs or worried about the fugitive Black. I slept soundly until dawn and woke up feeling refreshed.

The breakfast at Leaky Cauldron is not very lavish, and the taste is just passable. Some of the ingredients are leftovers from yesterday's kitchen, which are then fried again and served.

The other guests didn't seem to have the habit of eating breakfast. The witch who came from the countryside to buy supplies left early, and the dwarf was still fast asleep in his room, his snoring faintly audible as you passed by the door.

But Professor Levent, does he also have a habit of sleeping in late?

Or are you back from a trip and still jet-lagged?
Harry stared aimlessly across the long table, his gaze unfocused, his mind blank. He mechanically tore the bread into strips and put them in his mouth to chew, completely ignoring the taste of the bread.

There was a slight noise coming from room number eleven. As usual, it was probably the sound of the house-elves cleaning. Nothing to worry about.

The sound of flapping wings rang out, and a bit more life appeared in those eyes. Harry looked up and saw Hedwig fly through the skylight into the tavern and land on the long table in front of him.

An owl brought a reply from the Dursleys.

Harry opened the envelope, but there was no reply. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed unwilling to talk to him, or perhaps they had nothing to say. There was only a crumpled consent form with Vernon Dursley's name scrawled in the lower right corner.

Harry stared at the creases and signature on the paper and couldn't help but laugh.

He could imagine his Uncle Vernon's angry expression when he received the letter, crumpling the paper into a ball and throwing it into the trash can next to the table, cursing and swearing. But then he remembered that his uncle was a wizard and worried that he would return to Privet Drive to cause trouble, so he reluctantly signed the consent form and handed it to the monster-like owl postman.

Professor Levent was right; the situation wasn't as bad as people thought.

Next semester, I can go to Hogsmeade with Ron and the others on weekends.

Harry happily sipped his milk, intending to continue admiring the autographs, when he suddenly heard a commotion coming from the corridor.

"Oh my God!"

“Click, click…”

It looked like a house-elves chasing something, darting around the room, occasionally letting out low growls like rabid dogs, ready to pounce at any moment.

"Some guest must have left a dangerous magical item in their room."

Harry swallowed his bread, oblivious to the situation, but Hedwig mumbled a couple of reminders, and his eyes suddenly widened. "The Monster Book of Monsters!"

"Didn't I tie it up with a belt and stuff it into the box?"

Harry exclaimed in surprise, dropped his breakfast, and rushed over. Sure enough, it was a gift from Hagrid.

A thick, green-covered book with a gold-embossed title, its four corners standing upright as it races along the floor, resembling some strangely shaped crab with its sharp teeth exposed as it opens and closes.

"Thank God..."

The house-elf was nearly scared to death. When it saw the guests arriving, it screamed, snapped its fingers, and disappeared.

Harry was about to worry as he watched the monster book darting rapidly through the corner when he suddenly heard a soft incantation coming from the doorway.

"The Book of Monsters is summoned."

The restless monster book fell into Melvin's hands, still trembling and shaking angrily. Melvin gently stroked the spine to calm the monster book down and handed it back to Harry.

"Professor Levent..."

So, the volatile monster book was calmed down just like that?
Harry took the monster book, blinked, and was still a little confused.

“Good morning, Harry.” Melvin turned and walked toward the dining table. “I saw Hedwig is back; your aunt and uncle wrote back to you.”

Harry was still a little worried, so he tied the book up with a belt, tossed it back onto the bed, and followed the professor with a grin. "No, they didn't seem to want to talk to me, but Uncle Vernon signed the consent form, so I can go to Hogsmeade this weekend!"

“I see…” Melvin took a breakfast.

Harry, ever observant, promptly handed over the cutlery: "Professor, what are Hogsmeades like?"

"Similar to Diagon Alley, but not as bustling. Hogsmeade's main customers are students..."

The two chatted over their meal, mainly about Hogsmeade, Quidditch Boutique, Honeydukes Candy Shop, and Harry's three brooms that he longed for.

Despite Melvin's comment that the street couldn't compare to Diagon Alley, Harry was still looking forward to the new school term. He was about to enter his third year, and the problem that had troubled him for so long had been solved, leaving only Black, who was far away from him.

Thinking of the fugitive Black, Harry looked at the wise professor with a hint of anticipation: "Professor Levent, there are still three weeks until the start of the semester. Do you have any advice for me?"

Melvin looked into his green eyes, hesitated for a moment, and said in a serious tone, "I suggest you learn the Patronus Charm on your own."

Harry was immediately filled with confusion.

……

Little Hangton is a Muggle village nestled in a valley. Decades ago, there were a few wealthy families in the valley, but in recent years, as young people have migrated to the city, the village has become increasingly sparsely populated. The church on the hillside has been abandoned and turned into a cemetery for the elderly.

Six miles away is Big Hangleton, a typical English town with newly opened shopping malls, bustling game arcades, and a dimly lit, gloomy police station that's just an empty shell, staffed by middle-aged men with beer bellies who are just drinking and waiting to retire.

The unsolved case from decades ago at Riddle House remains unsolved, becoming a constant topic of conversation at the Hanged Man's Bar.

According to the drinkers, every version of the story begins in the same way:
"That was fifty years ago, before the Riddles fell from grace. The snobbish and volatile Riddles were very wealthy, with businesses hundreds of kilometers away in London, and their mansion was magnificent. But one clear summer dawn, their maid entered the living room and found the bodies of the Riddle family of three lying on the floor."

"The police questioned every resident in the village but found no clues; everyone had an alibi."

The bartender stood behind the counter, drawing out his words, skillfully manipulating the patrons' emotions, "Do you know who the murderer is?"

"Snapped!"

The door to the Hanged Man's Bar was pushed open, and a young, unfamiliar face walked in, patting the dew off his clothes and trousers: "Can anyone get me a glass of mead?"

The bar was full of villagers, and they could tell at a glance that this was a stranger. Strangely, although he had come from the forest path, his shoes were not muddy and he did not have much grass or grass debris on him.

For a moment, no one spoke. The bartender's story had just begun, and the suspense was building up, making everyone a little uncomfortable. The other few villagers who knew the story were also feeling the same way. The bartender handed over the mead: "Sir, you don't look like a resident of this area. Why are you here?"

"I am a student who is out conducting research and I want to find and investigate some old and simple folk houses."

"That's it..."

The bartenders and patrons relaxed a little; as long as they weren't relatives of the Riddle family, no one else was allowed to interrupt their discussion of the Riddle mystery.

“The Riddle family mansion is just what you need.”

The bartender, understanding and considerate, made a recommendation and recounted the backstory of the unsolved case, reigniting the enthusiasm of the patrons.

“No, the kind of house I’m looking for is simple and old-fashioned; such a wealthy person doesn’t fit the bill.” Melvin shook his head and said with a smile, “But I’m very curious about who the murderer in that case was.”

"The case remains unsolved, and the files are still locked in the Hangleton Police Department's archives." The bartender then changed the subject, "but the maids and cooks who worked at the Riddle house back then all suspect Frank, the Riddle family's gardener."

Frank Bryce was an eccentric and gloomy man who had served in the war, was crippled by a bullet, and developed PTSD. He had extreme reactions to crowds and noise, leading many to suspect that this mentally ill man would lose control.

The bartender has told this story dozens, even hundreds of times. He narrates it in a low voice, asks questions with a passionate tone, and even pauses carefully, knowing exactly where to pause to pique the curiosity of his customers.

They all pulled out their wallets to buy wine, eager to hear more details.

But once they paid, the story took a sharp turn for the worse.

Police autopsies revealed that the Riddle family had not been murdered. They had no surgical wounds, ruling out sharp weapons and guns. Their physiological indicators were also normal, ruling out poisoning and asphyxiation. Apart from their similar expressions of terror, it was more likely that they died suddenly from a heart attack or stroke at the same time.

Therefore, Frank was cleared of suspicion and released.

Riddle's mansion was inherited by a mysterious wealthy man who neither lived there nor rented it out for business. It was said that he kept the mansion for tax reasons. In any case, Frank continued to work at Riddle's old mansion, leveling the lawn and tending the yard.

The drinkers were very disgusted with this ending:

"And then what?"

"You bastard, you're definitely trying to scam us out of our money for drinks!"

"Oh, you greedy hanged man, you truly deserve to go to hell!"

The bartender calmly cleared away the glasses, washing and wiping them on the bar counter, ignoring their complaints and curses. This had happened many times before. In this remote and impoverished village, the bar relied on one suspenseful story after another to attract customers.

Based on true stories, not every story has an ending.

The young student finished his mead, leaving a few pounds at the bottom of the glass. Only then did the bartender remember his purpose and casually asked:
"Sir, which old house are you looking for?"

"The Gaunt family, have you heard of them?"

“The Gaunt family…” The bartender scratched his head, and it took him a while to remember that there used to be such a strange family. “The one in the woods across the valley, right? Don’t go there. It used to be just a dilapidated little house, long abandoned.”

"understood."

The young student waved without looking back and walked out of the old bar.

……

The village is nestled between two steep hillsides. Go straight down the steep hillsides, turn right at the sign for the main road of the village, pass through a gap in the fence, and enter a steeper and narrower dirt road.

The bushes on both sides are even denser and covered with rocks. Because no one has walked on it for decades, the vegetation has grown wildly and spread out, and the road surface is so potholed that the shape of the road is almost unrecognizable.

The emerald snake's nest trembled slightly. As if sensing the outside environment, Yulm eagerly crawled out of the gem, climbed onto the branches of the roadside trees, and disappeared into the lush bushes.

Melvin strolled slowly behind, dawdling as he made his way deeper into the woods, glancing around and occasionally summoning whirlwinds to shake the branches and scare away snakes hiding in the shadows.

Sometimes he would encounter vipers disguised as fallen leaves, coiled motionless on the ground, unresponsive to any noise.

When Melvin approached and stepped on it, it suddenly sprang up, trying to bite Melvin.

At this moment, Yulm would suddenly dart out, appearing from who-knows-where, always arriving just in time, lashing the viper across the face with his tail, like a slap across the face, and then hissing in reprimand.

Melvin couldn't understand Parseltongue, but judging from the pitiful look in the viper's eyes as it left, Yulm probably swore a lot.

I don't know where they learned those swear words and slang.

After walking and stopping for half an hour, they gradually ventured deeper into the woods. The lush trees blocked out the sunlight, and the air became exceptionally fresh, but there was a faint, fishy, ​​damp smell. The figures of various snakes became more and more numerous. Melvin was not afraid of snakes, as the venomous snakes could not bite through the iron-clad blister pack covering his body.

He looked at the baby snake and found that it was not uncomfortable at all. On the contrary, it liked the environment very much and was excitedly crawling around, occasionally slapping the local snake a few times.

“Yurm, help me find the old Gaunt house.” Melvin knew that Yurm could understand his meaning.

"Hiss..." The young snake indeed quickened its pace.

Melvin followed at a leisurely pace, and after a short while, passing through the gaps between several century-old trees, he finally saw a strange old house.

The shapeshifting magic manipulated the rock-built brick walls, which had been parasitized by moss and vines, transforming them into part of the forest. The light gray old house was stained with emerald green, and the door was covered with dense nettles, with decaying snake bones hanging on the door knocker.

Melvin summoned a whirlwind to open the door for him, and also swept away some snakes and insects that refused to leave. He entered the old house and found that more than half of the roof tiles had been torn off. Decades of rain had turned half of the house into mud and sand. The oak furniture had long been hollowed out by various insects and covered with all kinds of fungi.

The walls have collapsed more than halfway, and through the partitions, several rooms can be vaguely discerned: three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen.

The red brick fireplace, blackened by soot, was dilapidated. The ash from the burnt wood was rich in nutrients, giving rise to a dense thicket of nettles. On the filthy armchair, snake bones with corroded flesh were coiled. Maggots and ants ignored the outsider, Melvin, who had intruded, and crawled on their own.

There were also rusty iron pots and a pile of dirty pots and pans.

Yulm slithered around, nearly falling into a clump of sticky, foul-smelling mud. The young snake no longer wanted to wander around and turned to coil around Melvin's feet, its remarkably human-like eyes seemingly showing great disdain for the Gaunt mansion.

"..."

Melvin looked around, his keen magical senses coming in handy.

In the narrowest bedroom, a sinister, dark power shone like a light bulb in the night, impossible to ignore.

(End of this chapter)