HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Its pleading gaze swept toward the edge of the cave, where several pairs of eerie green eyes, trembling with fear, could be vaguely seen.

"Can it talk?" Nightingale's voice showed a noticeable fluctuation for the first time, and she gripped her wand even tighter. "That's impossible. A level XXXXX magical creature, untamable, and certainly not capable of speaking human language!"

Aragog let out a bitter hissing sound, like a broken bellows, as if he were laughing bitterly: "Yes...yes, young witch. Usually...impossible. But...I am different. My name is...Aragog...I was...raised. By a...half-giant boy. In...a warm closet in a castle called Hogwarts."

“Hagrid?” the kestrel blurted out, immediately conjuring up the image of the always smiling gamekeeper with an unusual enthusiasm for dangerous creatures.

Aragog's massive head trembled slightly, and an unfathomable glint flashed in his murky eyes: "Rupert Hagrid... my... friend. He gave me a name, gave me warm food... and taught me your language. He... believed in me, even when I was banished to this... forest."

Its voice was filled with a desolate longing and a sorrow of being exiled by the world.

Chapter 153 Handing Over Venom

Sagres listened without any change in expression.

His wand remained firmly pointed at Aragog, its red glow undiminished: "A touching story. But that doesn't change the fact that you and your descendants built this mountain of corpses with fangs, nor does it change the fact that they attacked me."

Aragog's massive body shrank back slightly: "Survival... Wizard. The law of the forest... the survival of the fittest."

It weakly protested, its voice trailing off, "The centaurs... see us as prey... conflict... is unavoidable. As for my offense... I apologize... greedy offspring... have sensed a powerful magic..."

“I like the idea of ​​the survival of the fittest,” Sagles interrupted, his voice calm. “It means I don’t need to make any excuses for what I did tonight.”

He took a step forward, the red light of his wand reflecting on Aragog's aged carapace.

"Hand over the venom, all of it." Sagres's voice was devoid of any warmth. "Don't test my patience, old spider. I can feel your life force about to burn out, but I don't mind extinguishing it myself and slowly extracting what I need from your corpse."

The cave fell into a deathly silence.

A flash of humiliation and fear crossed Aragog's cloudy compound eyes, but it ultimately turned into deep despair.

It knew that the wizard before it was not bluffing—the coldness in his eyes was a hundred times more terrifying than that of the fiercest predator.

Aragog let out a low, painful hiss, a sound that seemed to be squeezed out of his decaying chest.

Its massive abdomen convulsed violently, and a thick, venomous thorn slowly emerged, its tip gleaming with a dark, cold light.

Thick, inky venom seeped from the tip of the stinger, emitting a pungent, fishy odor, each drop leaving a viscous thread in the air as it fell.

Nightingale immediately stepped forward, took out a specially made crystal bottle with countless runes engraved on its inner wall, and carefully guided the venom into the bottle with her wand.

Throughout the entire process, Sagres' wand remained firmly locked on Aragog's head, while the kestrel nervously kept watch on its surroundings.

As the last drop of precious venom flowed into the crystal bottle, Nightingale quickly sealed the bottle. A faint magical glow immediately shone inside, clearly maintaining the venom's activity and potency.

Sagrass finally lowered his wand, but the oppressive aura remained.

He walked up to the enormous Aragog. Despite the vast difference in size, his cold gaze sent a shiver down the spine of the aged giant spider king.

“For the sake of Hagrid’s pitiful kindness, and for the sake of this ‘gift’ of yours,” Sagrais said calmly and coldly, “I will not kill you.”

He leaned forward slightly, and a blue arc of electricity suddenly shot out from the tip of his wand, striking Aragog's wrinkled carapace without mercy.

Amidst the sizzling sound of burning, a charred mark was deeply imprinted into the carapace, emitting a pungent, burnt smell.

“But you’d better keep an eye on your offspring,” Sagles said calmly. “If any of your descendants dares to see my students, my companions, or even myself as prey…”

He paused, looking directly into the other's eyes. "I will return. Then, this forest will no longer echo with the cries of the eight-eyed giant spider; only eternal silence will remain. Do you understand?"

Aragog's massive body trembled violently with fear, and a burning pain shot through the spot where the wand had touched it, making it acutely aware of the threat of death.

"I...I understand! Powerful wizard! I...I swear on my remaining life...to restrain them!"

Sagles nodded.

“Very good.” He put away his wand, no longer glancing at the aged giant spider. “Let’s go.”

The three left along the blood trail they had come from, leaving behind only Aragog's painful gasps and the faint hissing of the young spiders trembling in the shadows.

The kestrel couldn't help but glance back. Aragog's hunched, massive body looked particularly forlorn in the darkness, and his cloudy compound eyes seemed to still hold a lingering longing for Hagrid.

Her heart softened, and she asked softly, "Aren't we...it looks a little...a little..."

The nightingale paused slightly, but did not turn around.

Sagras stopped abruptly and turned to look at the falcon. His calm gaze made the little witch instinctively shrink back.

"Pitiful?"

Sagrais's voice was calm and composed. "If it were any other wizard tonight, that 'poor' old spider would have ordered its offspring to tear them to pieces without hesitation. Among those piles of bones you see, there might be curious residents of Hogsmeade, or patrolling Aurors."

The kestrel's face turned pale instantly.

The nightingale then turned around, moonlight streaming through the cracks in the cave ceiling and falling on her profile: "Iris, you must understand, Hagrid is its only friend. Other humans are nothing to it..."

She pointed with her wand at the several fresh skeletons on the ground, "They're just food."

With a flick of his wand, Sagres tore apart the thick spiderwebs on the cave wall, revealing a gruesome scene behind it.

Thousands of spider eggs, each the size of a pumpkin, hung densely in the web, and the young spiders could be seen wriggling inside the translucent eggshells.

"The eight-eyed giant spider has no natural enemies in the Forbidden Forest."

As they walked, Sagres said, "Hagrid has only let it roam here for a few decades, and its population has already reached tens of thousands. And the Ministry of Magic is turning a blind eye to this..."

He smiled expressionlessly. "I'm afraid it won't be long before these spiders leave the Forbidden Forest and start attacking the residents of Hogsmeade."

Red Falcon suddenly remembered something, its voice trembling: "But... how could Headmaster Dumbledore allow it..."

“Albus Dumbledore,” Sagres interrupted her, his voice low and composed, “sometimes he misplaced his kindness.”

Nightingale gently pressed down on the trembling shoulders of the falcon: "Let's go. The venom we obtained tonight, if brewed into a secret healing potion, can save many lives."

As the three left the cave, the kestrel looked back one last time.

Under the moonlight, Aragog slowly crawled back into its cocoon. In its murky compound eyes, no longer could one see any warmth, only the cold indifference of a wild beast.

She suddenly understood; this was the law of the Forbidden Forest.

With all compassion locked away, the kestrel's body finally stopped trembling.

……

The three retraced their steps, the darkness of the Forbidden Forest gradually fading. Nightingale's wand illuminated the path ahead, and the distorted shadows of the trees no longer appeared so menacing in the light.

"Watch your step," Nightingale pointed ahead. "That's a patch of vampire vines."

The kestrel looked down and saw a patch of dark red vines creeping on the ground like blood vessels, slowly wriggling at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye.

With a casual wave of his hand, Sagres sent a pale fire raven flying by, causing the vines to immediately cower and retreat. These creatures were everywhere in the Forbidden Forest.

The falcon's eyes lit up, and she squatted down curiously: "Can I collect some samples?" she said with great interest. "Professor Sprout told me that the sap of the vampire vine can be used to make tranquilizers and also to draw magic circles."

Sagles nodded. "Hurry up."

He looked up at the sky, which was obscured by the tree canopy. "We'll try to get out of here before dawn."

The kestrels immediately began cutting and collecting with great enthusiasm.

"I heard that Nicolas Flamel went back to Beauxbatons a while ago?" Sagles asked casually.

“Yes, he seems to be…” Nightingale paused for a moment, “discussing with Mrs. Maxim about donating his estate.”

"It seems the couple has finally decided to stop using the Philosopher's Stone to prolong their lives," Sagres said with some emotion. "A life spanning over six hundred years is finally coming to an end."

The kestrel was puzzled by this. As she used a cutting spell to sever the vines, she turned to the two of them and said, "But why? Did their magic stone fail?"

“It’s not a problem with the Philosopher’s Stone,” Sagrais replied, “it’s because of them. I’ve seen what he looked like… frail and old.”

Nightingale couldn't help but shake her head. "Their sense of taste has disappeared, their sense of touch has deteriorated, and their bodies are already broken and difficult to maintain."

"Oh." Red Falcon stuffed a small bundle of vines into a travel bag and made up a story on the spot. "Do you think he might have just faked his death to escape, and then started over with a new body and a new identity?"

Sagres and Nightingale were taken aback by these words, then exchanged a meaningful glance, but neither of them said anything.

Chapter 154 Visiting Hagrid's House

“You could try to find out how Nicolas Flamel used the Philosopher’s Stone to concoct the elixir of immortality,” Sagres said. “You might need it someday.”

Nightingale nodded. The person who needs that thing the most right now is Thunderbird, whose Dean Iphamoni is over a hundred years old.

“Let me know if you need help,” Sagres added casually, his tone calm. “There are probably quite a few people eyeing his inheritance.”

"Should we get involved in this too?" After finishing collecting the items, Red Falcon stood up and carefully placed the travel bag under his robe.

Sagres shook his head. "All we want is the method to use the Philosopher's Stone, nothing else."

He continued walking, saying as he went, "Besides, as long as Nicolas Flamel donates his research findings in their entirety to his alma mater, it won't be difficult for Verlis to access them. What we need to be wary of now are those with ulterior motives who are trying to plunder along the way."

“That’s right, after all, they’re still alive and well,” Nightingale explained softly to the falcon. “It’s too early to think about these things.”

Suddenly, heavy footsteps and the distinctive panting of dogs came from afar.

Who's there?

A loud voice pierced through the bushes.

Immediately afterwards, Hagrid's burly figure emerged from the bushes, carrying a swaying oil lamp in his hand, with the panting Yaya beside him.

"Oh! It's you!" Hagrid's eyes widened in surprise, the light from the oil lamp dancing on his unkempt beard. "Professor Greengrass? And two others... uh, wait, what are you doing wandering around the Forbidden Forest at this hour?"

Sagres nodded slightly, his attitude relatively calm: "We are collecting some materials, Hagrid."

Ya Ya curiously leaned closer, sniffed the hem of the falcon's robe with its wet nose, and suddenly sneezed loudly.

It had clearly caught the scent of the eight-eyed giant spider. Hagrid understood, and his surprise was quickly replaced by worry, his brows furrowing tightly: "Wait...you guys aren't going to...?"

"The lair of Aragog? Yes," Zagreb readily admitted. "We need some fresh venom."

"You're not hurt, are you?!" Hagrid's face flushed red. "And... you didn't hurt Aragog, did you? It's very old, not in good health, and..."

“It is unharmed,” Sagles said calmly, “though its offspring have tried to eat us as a midnight snack.”

Hagrid looked both guilty and worried: "Aragok is actually quite docile, as long as you talk to it nicely and use the right method..."

“Meek?” the kestrel couldn’t help but interject. “The bones in its nest are piled up like small mountains!”

Hai Ge rubbed his hands nervously: "Well... there's nothing we can do about it! The Forbidden Forest has its own rules..."

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” Nightingale told Hagrid. “We just took some venom from it.”