Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle

Normal wizards were still at home reuniting with their families and friends. There were few pedestrians on the streets, and without customers there was naturally no business. Other shops were basically closed, and only the Pig's Head Bar was half-open, revealing a few patrons inside.

However, many guests covered their faces. Some wizards wore cloaks and hoods, some had half-face masks or bandages on their faces, and a few witches were wrapped in thick black scarves. There were also wizards with unnatural expressions, looking like they were wearing someone else's face.

People sat together in groups of three or four, speaking in low voices. The whispers of many people mixed together, making it not noisy, but rather eerily quiet.

Hagrid didn't feel anything unusual about this. He reached out and patted Wright, making him stagger. Then he patted Melvin on the shoulder and looked at Dumbledore and Flitwick. "Come on, you must try the Fire Whisky here. It's my treat!"

Professor Flitwick refused. "I've drunk enough yesterday and today."

Dumbledore also shook his head, his expression somewhat complicated: "You guys go ahead. If I go in, I'll probably be kicked out by the boss."

The others thought he was joking and didn't take it seriously, nor did they continue to persuade him.

Wright was no stranger to the Hog's Head. He chuckled twice, and when he saw Melvin was about to shake his head, he quickly reached out and tugged at his sleeve. "Then let's have a drink, Hagrid's treat. I'll thank you on Melvin's behalf."

Melvin turned to look at him: "?"

……

The Hog's Head Bar is very small, even smaller than the Three Broomsticks before its expansion. The main hall is cramped and, apart from a row of seats next to the bar, can only accommodate a few small round tables, which can accommodate at most twenty to thirty guests at the same time.

As he walked into the bar, a strong smell of sheep hit him in the face. Melvin frowned slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable.

Wright seemed to sense his disgust through the mask and chuckled, "You'll get used to it in a few minutes. It's not entirely smelly. If you smell it carefully, can you still smell a slight aroma of alcohol?"

Melvin took a deep breath and indeed smelled something else, but it wasn't the aroma of wine, it was the smell of moldy wood.

"..."

Half of Melvin's face was hidden behind the mask, with no expression and no discernible emotion.

To match the habits of the other patrons of the Hog's Head, he and Wright both wore masks, but Hagrid didn't. It made no difference whether he wore one or not, unless the mask could hide his nearly ten-foot height.

In fact, given the dim lighting in the bar, the role of the mask is unnecessary.

The Hog's Head Inn is similar to the Leaky Cauldron in that the first floor is a bar and the second floor is an inn. The target customers here are obviously not ordinary wizards. If a questionnaire survey could be conducted, Melvin believes that the customer base of this bar and Knockturn Alley overlap a lot.

But the environment here was even worse than Knockturn Alley. Doors, windows, tables, and chairs were covered in old, greasy putty, leaving behind tiny, greasy black flakes when rubbed with a finger. The floor felt strange; at first glance, it looked like compacted mud, but it was actually stone pavement stained by centuries of grime. Because rainwater couldn't wash into the house, in some ways, it was even dirtier than the open air of Knockturn Alley.

The half-blood giant walked into the bar, attracting the attention of many drinkers, but he didn't care. The first thing he did was to order drinks.

Hagrid was very experienced in this and led the two to the bar. The bar owner was standing behind the wooden cabinet. He had thick gray hair and beard, and his face could not be seen clearly. One could only tell that he was a tall and thin old man. Judging from his sharp eyes, he had a bad temper.

The person in front of me is the principal's biological brother...

Melvin looked at the owner of the Hog's Head Inn. He was tall and thin, wearing a dirty apron. Most of his face was hidden behind his unkempt beard and hair. The thick beard and hair showed no signs of being trimmed, almost like a mask. Only a pair of blue-gray, slightly cloudy eyes could be seen from under his eyebrows.

If you didn't know his identity, it would be almost impossible to associate the sloppy bar owner with the Hogwarts headmaster.

"Three bottles of Ogden's Firewhisky," said Hagrid.

The bar owner glanced at them, bent down and pulled out three dusty bottles of whiskey from under the counter. He said in a dull voice, "Thirty Sickles."

Hagrid pulled a gold Galleon from his pocket, counted out thirteen silver Sickles, weighed them in his palm, and handed them over. The wooden drawer of the till slid open automatically, swallowing the fourteen coins.

"Don't look, there's no cup."

Wright pulled Melvin towards an empty round table in the corner. "At the Hog's Head, you drink directly into your mouth, or bring your own cup."

Melvin looked back and saw the boss wiping a glass with a dirty rag. The rag was black and looked like it had never been washed. The more he wiped, the dirtier the glass became.

"..."

Firewhisky.

The wine is transparent amber in color. When it is unopened, there is a layer of blue flame close to the liquid surface, like a thin film, which does not feel warm when touched through the bottle. After opening, the flame quickly turns to bright yellow, and ripples of flames appear. There are also sporadic sparks on the surface, making a slight sizzling sound.

It is said that the inspiration came from a brewing wizard's visit to a dragon.

Hagrid didn't exchange any fancy greetings or toasts. He just unscrewed the bottle cap and took a sip. He exhaled comfortably, and a smell of alcohol rushed into his nose, followed by a few wisps of orange flames.

Wright drank more slowly but just as casually, with a blaze of fire coming out of his nose, while he asked Melvin:

"I heard you rented the memory mirror to Madam Rosmerta, letting her broadcast football games in the tavern. It attracted a lot of business, and you shared in the increased profits. How much did the mirror cost to rent? Did you make a lot of money?"

"The mirror is free, and the proceeds from the game are used to buy brooms for the team. I only earn a commission."

“How much money do you make specifically?”

"Four hundred Galleons..."

Melvin looked at him suspiciously, suspecting the repair shop owner also wanted to make a deal. He didn't mind, after all, he was the one who invented the memory mirror. "Why are you asking this? Is there anyone else who wants to buy the mirror? You can just sell it directly."

"No, it's you who came up with this idea and you who provided the funds for my research and development. I can't keep the Shadow Mirror for myself."

"Is the Monk Stanley family so professional?"

"Thank you for the compliment."

"Then why ask about rent and income?"

"This matter is rather complicated..."

Wright took a sip of whiskey, waiting for the flames in his nose to die down. He was about to explain in detail when he saw the unopened bottle in front of him and asked, "Why don't you drink it?"

"Yeah, give it a try." Hagrid immediately joined in, his voice sounding a little drunk. He stood up and walked towards the back of the bar. "You guys enjoy your drink. I'm going to the toilet. I drank a little too much today..."

Wright told him to go without worry and that he would treat Melvin well.

The half-blood giant staggered away from the round table, and several eyes in the tavern followed his back.

"Uh……"

Melvin hesitated for a moment. After all, he was a professor at the school. Even during the holidays, he could not tarnish the image of Hogwarts outside. So he reached into his pocket, rummaged around, and then took out a goblet.

He opened the bottle and poured a glass of whiskey brewed by the wizard. Suddenly, orange flames rose from the glass goblet.

Wright was stunned for a moment, looked at the glass, and then looked at his deflated pocket: "Invisible Extension Spell?"

Melvin nodded silently and took a sip of the whiskey. The flame was not scorching, but a little spicy.

Wright frowned, his expression suddenly becoming serious: "Is your pocket legal?"

Melvin looked at him puzzledly: "I am a foreign wizard, why should I obey the laws of the British Ministry of Magic?"

"Don't lie to me! The Woolworth Building also prohibits the abuse of the Undetectable Extension Charm!"

"I'm in Scotland, why should I obey the laws of MACUSA?"

"You...this...I..."

Wright was stunned. The Monkstanley family had been law-abiding model wizards for generations. It had taken them several years of struggle to open a repair shop here. They had only become bolder in recent years. He had never seen such a guy walking on the edge of the law.

"Then you asked me last time in the tavern whether the stretching spell was legal?"

"You are a local wizard, you should abide by the law."

Melvin waved his hand, telling him not to dwell on such details. "Let's not talk about the Traceless Extension Spell anymore. Let's get down to business."

Wright clenched the bottle tightly, like a fist, feeling like he had a lot of words stuck in his chest. He wanted to write to the Ministry of Magic and the Magical Congress to report this guy, but when he thought of the illegal shop he opened, he finally held back:

"Old Tom from the Leaky Cauldron has also heard about the mirror. He wants to buy one. We can also work together like we did with the Three Broomsticks. You provide the mirror, he provides the tavern, and you can split the monthly profits directly."

"You're mistaken," Melvin corrected. "I lent the Shadow Mirror to Madam Rosmerta for free. The school is collaborating with the Three Broomsticks on Quidditch, and they share the profits. I'm just earning a commission."

"Then Old Tom is willing to give the school a share, so you can earn a commission."

"I mean, the Leaky Cauldron wants the Shadow Mirror, and Old Tom wants to pay for it."

"?"

Wright was about to ask more questions when Melvin suddenly turned his head to look at the back door of the tavern and asked softly:

"Hagrid, did you take too long in the bathroom?"

Chapter 56 Three Snowballs

The Hog's Head, back door.

The moonlight is bright tonight, illuminating the snow.

The clouds are sparse and the view is wide, so tomorrow should be a good day.

If it were an ordinary night, Quirrell would think this kind of moonlight was not bad, but tonight, when he wanted to secretly approach the half-giant to obtain information, this kind of moonlight was a bit annoying and not convenient for concealing his whereabouts and identity. He was almost spotted by Snape when he left the school.

shuh...

Quirrell paused as his leather boots stepped on the soft snow, pulled down his hood, put on his mask, and walked lightly towards the bar's bathroom.

The front hall is never cleaned all year round, but the toilet is surprisingly clean. At least there is no pungent, disgusting smell that makes you unable to open your eyes.

The half-blood giant stood in front of the sink, staring straight at the copper faucet, letting the water wash over his palms.

It's not surprising that drunk people always do inexplicable things because their brains stop working.

His hands were thick and broad, covered with lumpy calluses, and his muscles and veins were rough and bulging, making him look more like some kind of humanoid beast. The strong smell of alcohol on his body amplified the savagery in the temperament of the half-blood giant. He turned his head and glared at him. The look in that instant made Quirrell's breathing a little sluggish, as if he was stared at by a wild beast.

Quirrell consoled himself by thinking that he was a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and had dealt with even more ferocious magical creatures than this.

But the oppressive feeling brought by this size always exists. Although Hagrid usually behaves gently, the strong smell of alcohol makes people wonder how much sanity he has left at the moment and whether he will suddenly explode and attack.

Quirrell was a little hesitant. Originally, the best candidate to extract information from him was Kettleburn, and he had done the same in the past few months, trying his best to contact him and talk about some insignificant topics about magical animals. It was only recently that he casually mentioned the three-headed dog, but the disabled old guy had an extremely sensitive sense of smell. He somehow sensed that something was wrong and began to distance himself from him and be on guard.

After careful consideration, Quirrell shifted his target to the gamekeeper. He had been in contact with magical animals in the Forbidden Forest for many years. During the conversation, he revealed his understanding of dangerous animals. He was not very smart. The most important point was that he found out that the three-headed dog was raised by Hagrid.

A drunk Rubeus Hagrid was the easiest to let down his guard and the easiest to extract information from.

As Quirrell was thinking this, he suddenly saw Hagrid coming over from not far ahead. He was startled and pretended to be an ordinary drinker and greeted him:

"Firewhisky is too strong, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Hagrid, mumbling vaguely.

The two of them came to the alley behind the tavern and took some fresh air in the cool evening breeze.

"I heard that the inspiration for this wine came from a fire dragon."

"That's right! I like the feeling of fire coming out of my nose..." Hagrid suddenly became interested and muttered to the stranger he met outside the bathroom door, "Australian White Eyes, they are the most beautiful fire dragons, covered with pearl-like scales, and their dragon fire is a very beautiful and bright red flame. But I prefer Norwegian Ridgebacks, they have lovely scales and sharp fangs..."

"I prefer hounds to dragons." Quirrell began to bring up the real topic.

"Yes, hounds are cute too. I have one. Unfortunately, I've never raised a dragon. It would be great if I could hatch and raise one. My friend's child is raising dragons in Romania..."

Quirrell tried to bring the topic back: "Let's talk about hounds. Some dogs are cute, loyal, and close to humans. Some vicious dogs are more annoying, such as -"

"For example, my Fang! He's so cute! If I had a dragon, Fang would definitely take good care of it, and then he'd be a dragon-herding dog." Hagrid smacked his lips, savoring the term he had created, and leaned against the wall, grinning foolishly, "Dragon-herding dog..."