Magical Studies at Hogwarts...

Chapter 134 Albania

Old Eric stood behind the bar, wiping it with a somewhat dirty-looking rag.

There weren't many people in the hotel; the magical world's attention was focused on England, and few people would travel to Albania anymore.

There really isn't much to do here.

Italy, across the sea, and Greece to the east, are both far superior to this country, which is nothing but forests. Those still here today are either elderly people who can't walk or people with mental health issues.

A few days ago, one of them came to the hotel.

The woman, nearing forty, seemed to have a poor memory; she was forgetful and often forgot what she had just been saying. But what did this have to do with old Eric?

Galon is enough. So what if he's a wanted criminal?

"Looks like it's going to rain again," said old Mike, who always came over to chat with old Eric, holding a glass of butterbeer.

That was a special blend that old Eric made for him; it wasn't that sweet.

"It's time." Old Eric put the rag aside and poured himself a glass.

"Why didn't you go to England? That's the Quidditch World Cup. I would have gone there even if it weren't for this store."

"No, no, I'm not going. Haven't you heard? Things haven't been peaceful in England lately," Old Mike said. "They say a vicious Death Eater escaped from prison, and the streets are full of Dementors!"

"No way! It's all over. Apparently, that man was framed; he wasn't a Death Eater at all," old Eric laughed.

"Really? When did this happen? I haven't heard about it."

"Just a few days ago," old Eric said, clinking glasses with old Mike. "My son was on a business trip to England the other day, and he mentioned it casually in a letter."

"Oh, I see... I guess I'll have to go check it out. I wonder if it's still possible to buy tickets now."

"There should still be time, but the good seats are all gone."

"That's alright!" Old Mike took a big gulp and let out a satisfied burp. "As long as it's watchable."

After chatting for a while, old Mike left, satisfied. Old Eric then picked up a rag and began wiping the table, which he had wiped countless times before.

With a deafening clap of thunder, the rain began to pour down. Old Mike checked the doors and windows again; as he got older, he sometimes forgot whether he had closed them.

"Ring ring!"

The doorbell rang, and a short man pushed the door open and entered. He wore a gray round hat, his robe was tattered, and his boots were covered in mud.

"Are there any rooms available?" The question came out with a thick London accent.

"Yes, there are two scoops a night, and hot water is available."

"Open a restaurant, and while you're at it, order me something to eat, preferably a bowl of hot soup. This weather is just awful!"

"A total of three Westlakes."

The man took three scoops out of his pocket and placed them on the counter, then took a key from old Eric.

"208, the innermost room. I'll bring you the food later."

The man nodded and went up the stairs to the second floor. Old Eric glanced at him; his legs seemed a little weak, and he was limping.

Peter Pettigrew opened the door and cast a cleansing spell on himself, but it didn't work very well. He'd stolen the wand from a wizard's house, and it wasn't quite right for him.

"Damn it!"

He cursed under his breath, found the bathroom, took a quick hot shower, carefully dried himself, and then cast a cleansing spell on each piece of clothing before finally getting dressed, satisfied.

Just then, old Eric knocked on the door and brought in some food. It was a very simple meal: an egg sandwich, a bowl of vegetable soup, and a large spoonful of mashed potatoes.

Peter Pettigrew wasn't picky at all. He wolfed down his food, then lay back on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

Suddenly, a pain as if being torn apart by countless ants struck, jolting Peter Pettigrew awake and causing him to involuntarily curl up. The pain came in waves, constantly shifting. One moment it was the pain of being torn apart, the next it felt like someone was hammering his bones one by one.

He dared not utter a sound, biting the cup tightly in his mouth, his whole body soaked in sweat.

It took a full five minutes for the pain to subside, and Peter Pettigrew finally loosened his grip on the blanket, panting heavily.

"Completely cleaned up..."

The cleansing spell, as always, didn't have much effect, but at least it got rid of his sweat.

"Damn it! Damn it!"

He muttered curses under his breath, but dared not harbor a single word of resentment. Their identities were different.

One was a lowly servant, while the other was a student acknowledged by his master, and likely to inherit his master's legacy. Even ignoring these differences, his extraordinary magical abilities prevented him from harboring any thoughts of rebellion or resentment.

It's been more than half a month. Heaven knows how much suffering he endured to escape from England to Albania, hiding all the way. If he hadn't been able to transform into a rat, who knows how long he would have had to wait.

Two days ago, when the curse took effect for the first time, Peter Pettigrew was in so much pain that he almost fainted. It took him more than an hour to recover before he regained his strength.

At that time, he was still in Croatia, and disregarding being discovered, he rushed to Albania. But it was too late, and he had to endure that inhuman suffering once again.

"Just one day off, just one day off, tomorrow I'll..." He made up his mind secretly, now only his master could save him.

After lying in bed for a while, Peter Pettigrew finally regained some strength. He went downstairs; he needed to eat something.

There were only two people in the hall: old Eric was still behind the bar, and a woman was having dinner.

Peter swallowed hard; he hadn't eaten meat in a long time. But he dared not eat it. Although he had stolen the Galleons in his hand, he wanted to save them for his master later.

"You are... Peter!" Peter looked up, a hint of confusion on his face, as he ate his rather bland egg sandwich.

"Oh my god! It really is you! Weren't you... killed? Thank you, Merlin, so you've been alive all along!"

"Long time no see, Bertha." Peter Pettigrew recognized the woman; she was his former senior.

"Where have you been all these years? They even awarded you a medal after that incident!" Bertha Jorkins rambled on, completely oblivious to the constantly changing expressions on Peter Pettigrew's face.

"Bertha, it's so good to see you again. Let's not talk about me; how have you been all these years?"

"Me? I'm alright. After graduating, I joined the Ministry of Magic, and I've been switching between different departments over the years. Now I work in the Department of Magical Physical Education..."

"The Department of Magical Sports? They should be incredibly busy right now. What are you doing here?"

"Who knows? Mr. Crouch doesn't seem to like me. He gave me a vacation and told me to wait until after the World Cup to go back." Bertha's expression suddenly became somewhat blank.

"Would you like to come with me to the southern forest? I'm looking for something very important." Peter's eyes were fixed on Bertha's, as if there was a strange magical fluctuation within them.

"Whatever, I don't have anything to do anyway." Bertha's eyes were a little vacant, but she nodded in agreement. Suddenly, her eyes lit up again.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something that is very important to me..."

And more~

(End of this chapter)