Chapter 50. I Think I've Seen You Somewhere Before...
Night, Hufflepuff dormitory.
Neville lay on the floor, faithfully carrying out the task Duncan had given him.
He used a silver Sickle to tease Pro, helping it digest and, by the way, burn off its excess energy so it would be quiet at night.
Neville liked this job very much, because it was great fun, and he could build a good relationship with Pro.
Ever since Pro helped him find his Charms textbook, Pro's status in his heart had risen quite a bit.
So long as Pro was willing to help him look for lost items in future, he was willing to play with it till dawn every day!
"Damn!"
Just as Neville rolled the coin out, Duncan, who was lying on the bed resting, suddenly shouted in anger.
His right hand smacked hard on the blanket—bang, bang—so much that even Pro, which had scampered off, stumbled in fright.
"Duncan, what's wrong?"
Neville quickly turned his head and asked.
"N-nothing," Duncan replied feebly, his eyes silently fixed on the brand-new book in his inventory.
Holidays with Hags, by Gilderoy Lockhart.
He had just done another draw, and—what a connection he had with Lockhart—he'd drawn him again.
Fortunately, it wasn't the same volume, or he'd have cried his eyes out.
"Neville, play a couple more rounds with Pro, then turn in early too."
Duncan tossed the words to Neville, closed his eyes, and soon sank into sweet slumber.
The busy first day of term finally came to an end.
The days after suddenly became more relaxed, and Duncan led a school life similar to that of the other students.
Apart from going into the case to look after the magical creatures, every day was just lessons, the end of lessons, meals, and sleep—somewhat leisurely.
With the help of the Weasley twins, they fixed a time with Harry Potter, and the group would meet at Hagrid's hut on Saturday afternoon.
As for the books about the earliest magic, Professor Flitwick handed them to Duncan in the second Charms lesson.
The yellowing pages were covered in crooked, worm-like scrawl that made Duncan's head spin.
Even just reading the section that recorded the earliest magic took him several days to finish.
Unfortunately, he failed to obtain any important information, with only one point worth noting.
It recorded a certain potion which, after being taken, would allow one to see the trajectories of magic as animals used magic, thereby giving humans a chance to grasp the earliest magic.
Only the effects of this potion were recorded; there was no recipe.
Duncan even carried the book to consult Snape, asking whether he had ever heard of such a potion.
But Snape curled his thin lips and, in a sarcastic tone, said this was mere wishful thinking.
Long ago, people had already tried; wizards had drunk themselves to death in large numbers, and no one had ever succeeded.
Duncan could only give up and temporarily put the matter out of mind; his current knowledge of Potions had not reached the level needed to crack this riddle.
After taking the potion Professor Kettleburn had given, the Kelpie, Mori, gradually calmed down.
However, the black specks on its hair still had not faded and required further treatment.
Whenever he had free time each day, Duncan would go to consult Professor Kettleburn and see whether there might be a more suitable treatment plan.
It's worth mentioning that Newt had still not written back, and it was about to break Newt's longest record for not replying.
Were it not for his childhood experiences having long since accustomed Duncan to it, he would probably have gone to the Ministry of Magic to report Newt missing by now.
Leisurely times always pass quickly, and before he knew it, afternoon had arrived.
After feeding the magical creatures in the case, Duncan left the dormitory with Neville and strolled lazily toward Hagrid's hut.
As they passed through the corridor, Neville squinted toward a corner off to the side and gave Duncan's arm a gentle prod.
"Look— isn't that Professor Quirrell? What's he doing there?"
Duncan turned to look; it really was Professor Quirrell, his back to the wall, shrinking in a dark corner, his body trembling incessantly.
It looked as if he were doing something not suitable for children...
"Professor Quirrell, what are you busy with over there? Need a hand?"
Duncan called out loudly and warmly.
"N-nothing!"
Professor Quirrell whizzed around and answered quickly, as though afraid that Duncan would actually come over.
Then he gave the two a stiff smile, took a few big steps up the nearby staircase, and left.
Neville stroked his chin, his expression serious, like a private detective.
"Don't you think Professor Quirrell is a bit odd?"
"He is, a bit," Duncan said, looking carefully at the spot where Professor Quirrell had left.
The wall was clean, with nothing on it.
"But it's none of our business either. Come on, Neville, I'll let you experience the charm of rock cakes."
"Are they really tasty?" Neville asked.
"How to put it..."
Duncan said.
"It's not a question of tasting good or not.
They're very unique—Hagrid's signature craft.
You absolutely won't find them anywhere else."
Duncan and Neville left the castle, went down the slope, and, after passing through the pumpkin patch, arrived at the door of Hagrid's hut.
"Hagrid, open up— I've brought someone to sample your rock cakes!"
Duncan banged on the door and shouted.
The next second, the wooden door was yanked open so roughly it nearly flew off its hinges.
The towering Hagrid appeared, his eyes shining, his face alight with joy.
"Who wants to sample my rock cakes?"
Hagrid was so happy that even his pitch went up a few notes.
"Neville— Neville Longbottom," Duncan said, tilting his head to indicate Neville behind him.
"You know him, right?"
"Know him, know him..."
Hagrid replied.
His expression suddenly turned a bit constrained; he wanted to say something but didn't dare.
"All right, don't block the door," Duncan said, pushing Hagrid back into the room.
"Where are your rock cakes?"
One wonders what Hagrid had in mind when he built the place—such a massive frame living in a room meant for ordinary people.
Once chairs were set out, there was hardly any space left; even he had to be careful when turning around.
And Hagrid often cooked indoors; warm steam coiled through the room, making it both damp and hot.
After entering, Duncan drew his wand and summoned a breeze to cool the room quickly, lest they soon be drenched in sweat.
"Duncan, what've you been up to lately?"
came a familiar voice from the side.
Duncan turned his head.
Ron sat on Hagrid's bed, his legs swinging in the air, a biscuit in one hand and a cup of water in the other.
Beside Ron sat a black-haired boy with glasses, also on the bed, holding the same things.
With that signature look, Duncan didn't even need an introduction to know this was the Harry Potter he'd been looking for.
"Busy studying, of course," Duncan said with a smile as he walked over, greeting him cordially.
"Hello, Harry..."
"Duncan Scamander?"
Harry cut in first.
"I think I've seen you somewhere before..."
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