Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

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..."

"..."

Quirrell was a little annoyed.

If he didn't know that the stupid guy was not very smart, he would have suspected that Hagrid was deliberately teasing him. What dragon, what hound, what he wanted to talk about was the three-headed dog!

He suppressed his emotions and continued to guide, "I think ordinary hounds are definitely not suitable for dragon herding dogs. At least their size is not up to standard. Are there any dogs that are larger, almost comparable to fire dragons?"

The gamekeeper pondered for a moment, his drunken mind turning. He replied earnestly and carefully, "Ya Ya could be a dragon herder for a Hungarian Horntail, a smaller dragon, or any other young dragon."

"..."

Quirrell clenched his hands into fists behind his back, suppressing the impulse in his heart.

For the next ten minutes or so, Quirrell tried to steer the conversation towards the three-headed dog from various angles, trying to extract information, but Hagrid's focus always remained on the dragon and his dragon-herding dog.

"Don't mention the fire dragon anymore!"

Quirrell finally couldn't stand it anymore and roared in a low voice.

But at that moment, the gamekeeper turned to look at him, slowly squatted down, and asked sincerely, "Why can't we mention fire dragons? Don't you like fire dragons? They're so cute. How about the Swedish Short-Snout Dragon? The Welsh Green Dragon? The Ukrainian Iron Belly?"

"..."

Quirrell could no longer suppress the impulse in his heart. He took out his wand and cast a Confusion Charm at the drunkard.

Hagrid finally calmed down and leaned against the wall stupidly, his eyes dull and his expression confused.

"call……"

Quirrell finally felt relieved.

Finally, I don't have to continue talking to that stupid drunkard.

The Dark Lord was just too cautious, saying something about the possibility of giant blood, and the spell he cast might be ineffective. He was just a gamekeeper without a wand, only slightly better than Filch, the Squib, who would be obedient after being hit with a Confounding Charm.

"Tell me, what is the three-headed dog's weakness?"

Hagrid stared at the masked wizard in front of him with dull eyes, opened his mouth and burped at him, his breath mixed with the stench of alcohol and stomach acid.

Quirrell's cloak and mask could not block the stench. After inhaling a little, his vision suddenly went dark and he almost vomited on the spot. He was almost suffocating.

Uncontrollable malice surged in his heart. He had never had such a strong premonition that this Imperius Curse would definitely work. Quirrell raised his wand and shouted angrily:

[Soul leaving body]

Undisguised malice transformed into magic power and condensed at the tip of the wand. Some ominous curse was brewing.

Two bright white streaks shot out from the back door of the tavern. The whistling sound of the air being cut was deafening, and the force of the air stirred up the accumulated snow. The moonlight illuminated the snow, making it look like waves rising into the sky in a narrow alley.

Two snowballs came one after the other and arrived in front of the hybrid giant in an instant.

A snowball knocked the wand crooked, and another hit the head under the hood, making a sound with a crisp top note and a dull aftertaste.

Hagrid murmured, "The dragon is breathing fire."

Compared to the half-giant who was expelled from school and had his wand broken before graduation, Wright, the former Unspeakable who graduated with excellent grades and worked in the Ministry of Magic for several years, is more knowledgeable. The elective course professor next to him, who hurriedly condensed a snowball to attack after seeing the Imperius Curse, is definitely the top dueling wizard.

When the Imperius Curse sounded, he activated Snowball, casting the spell silently and without a wand. It was launched the moment the Imperius Curse ended. He was the first to arrive, and was not inferior to many senior Aurors of the Ministry of Magic.

The powerful impact knocked the masked wizard away and he fell headfirst into the thick snow.

Fortunately, the wand was still in his hand. Quirrell gripped the wand tightly, pressed his temples and struggled to stand up. His head was splitting with pain, and he could even hear the Dark Lord whispering in his ears:
"You...you! You must pay for this!"

Melvin and Wright cast their eyes over there.

The two ropes broke through the snow, like a poisonous snake that had been accumulating energy for a long time and biting its prey, with a terrifying sound.

Wright retreated and hid in the back door of the tavern. He was worried that this foreign wizard was not familiar with the British black magic, and wanted to invite him to hide in with him:

"Melvin, be careful! This is the dark magic version of 'Quick Imprisonment', a masterpiece created by dark wizards three hundred years ago. These thick ropes not only bind and imprison, but will also entangle anyone who gets close. You could be hanged to death, or strangled like a python..."

Melvin narrowed his eyes, estimated the paths of the two ropes, and muttered: [Huge Obstacles]

More than a dozen invisible obstacles blocked the two ropes released by the masked wizard. Even if he penetrated the obstacles one after another, he could not continue and fell into the snow. The magic power was cut off and the ropes dissipated.

The hooded dark wizard jumped out of the snow, and the two ropes were broken. He knew that he could not deal with Professor Lewinter in a short time, so he wanted to retreat immediately, but the splitting pain in his head made him unwilling to give up. He grasped his wand and communicated with the Dark Lord, wanting to teach him a lesson.

Perhaps it was one of the snowballs that hit him right in the back of the head, and the Dark Lord unexpectedly agreed.

Quirrell pointed his wand at the figure and heard a muffled spell from the back of his head, and suddenly a brand new rope shot out.

The rope swung taut and leaped from the air towards the back door of the tavern, leaving an arc. Three strands of brown hemp rope were twisted together, and the surface looked like neat and dense snake scales, emitting a dark glow, cutting through the cold air. If you listened carefully, it sounded like a poisonous snake spitting out its tongue.

Quirrell sneered to himself twice, then turned and left without hesitation, though his head was still a little dizzy and his body was staggering.

Melvin tried to block it with an obstacle again, but this time the rope was attached with a strange magical power. With a slight touch, the barrier constructed with the magic power melted.

He immediately changed his strategy, giving up on using illusory magical defense and instead intercepting the rope from a physical level. He stared straight at the rope, his eyes wide open and his pupils constricted, able to see every texture on the hemp rope.

"What are you standing there for?!"

Wright was anxious as he watched. This black magic was obviously more dangerous than the previous two. Melvin's mind was affected by the black magic. He reached into his inner shirt pocket, ready to save the young professor in the critical moment.

Just as the black hemp rope was about to hit him, the surrounding space seemed to change.

Wright heard a slight splash of water and his vision blurred for a moment, but when he looked carefully, it seemed that nothing was different.

Under the bright moonlight, a hazy mist appeared out of nowhere, consisting of countless crystal clear water beads, emitting a faint glow.

The water particles condensed into water droplets little by little, which attached to the surface of the hemp rope and quickly turned into white frost. The white frost covered the rope layer by layer and condensed into ice. The whole process seemed long, but it actually only took the blink of an eye.

The rope was frozen by the ice and suspended in the air like a magical ice sculpture. Melvin waved his hand, and the ice sculpture made a fine and crisp cracking sound and shattered instantly, and the hemp rope inside was turned into powder.

But Melvin did not stop. These ice crystal powders were controlled by Transfiguration and turned into an ice ball. With the sound of whistling wind, it shot towards the masked wizard who was fleeing far away.

The figure flew backwards, fell into a snowdrift farther away, and disappeared completely.

Is this the student who dropped out of Ilvermorny?
Wright, looking dazed, sighed, "Dumbledore shouldn't have hired you as a Muggle Studies professor, he should have hired you as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. With dueling skills like that, you'd at least win the championship in your age group in a dueling tournament."

Melvin didn't bother to pay attention to him. He went forward to check on Hagrid and found that he was just drunk and asleep. He waved to Wright behind him and said, "I'll take Hagrid back first. As for the shadow mirror, tell old Tom that we'll meet at the Leaky Cauldron at 7 o'clock tomorrow night."

"understood."

……

Melvin left Hogsmeade and walked slowly towards the school. A layer of transparent bubble film floated on his body. Snowflakes fell, and when they were about to land on his body by an inch, they were gently deflected, as if pushed away by a gentle force.

Because he was with the drunk Hagrid, Melvin did not Apparate, but chose to walk and sort out his thoughts.

The snow intertwined and surged like a long silver snake. The half-blood giant was lifted up and suspended above the snow. The moonlight fell on his body, like a cobra's neck.

Looking back at the battle just now, the first two ropes clearly showed Quirrell's true level. His black magic seemed fierce, but his skills and magic needed to be improved. Even the malice in his heart seemed not pure enough because of his cowardice. In fact, it was just that.

The black rope at the back was obviously different. The magic attached to it was eerie and evil, and extremely tricky. It was obviously the work of Voldemort.

Magic is the product of a wizard's soul and body. Voldemort is just a ghost without a physical body, like a dead tree without roots, which can only consume Quirrell's life to generate magic.

He was already being corroded by the breath of death, and the situation now would only be worse. If Quirrell had wanted to resurrect Voldemort before, he should now consider maintaining his own life.

The Forbidden Forest was densely wooded and covered in deep snow. The paths in the forest were already buried in the snow. There was no light in the cabin, so they could only follow the footprints left by the half-blood giant on the road that morning.

"Wang Wang..."

Before he even entered the vegetable garden cleared by the game keeper, the hunting dog Yaya came out to greet him.

This black and gray Neapolitan Mastiff was particularly conspicuous in the snow. It ran over excitedly with its tail wagging, but failed to wake Hagrid up. Instead, it smelled the stench of alcohol on him and immediately turned away in disgust, howling as it wandered around Melvin's feet.

Melvin carried Hagrid to the wooden bed in the house, covered him with a plush blanket made of some unknown animal, and turned to leave.

Yaya crawled over, pulled at his shoes with one paw, looked up at him, his eyes dark and bright, and made a whimpering sound in his throat, sounding a little pitiful. The other paw pointed at the dog bowl in the corner - it was empty.

(End of this chapter)