Harry returns from Hogwarts Legacy

Chapter 340 Pig Head Bar
Back at Hogwarts, Ron couldn't wait to tell Harry everything.

“What should I do, Harry?” Ron muttered. “What if Umbridge finds out I attacked her?”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said with a chuckle. “I guarantee Umbridge won’t pursue this matter—”

"Why?" Ron asked curiously.

“That’s so embarrassing,” Harry sighed. “You know, being attacked by a student at Hogwarts the first time could be considered a fluke, but being attacked twice… well…”

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked.

“Too weak for a professor,” Harry shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t think she’ll do anything to you. Besides, you were wearing an invisibility cloak the whole time, and the twins had you sandwiched between them to keep you from being discovered. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe.”

“Okay, that works then,” Ron said, wiping his sweat.

Indeed, that's true; it's as if Umbridge hadn't experienced it at all.

Her investigation reports in various classes were never made public, as if she had never investigated Hogwarts at all.

The incident was almost forgotten, and everyone went to class as usual. Ron attended four more Quidditch practice sessions, and on the last two, he was not scolded by Angelina.

Then, on a stormy night in late September, the topic came up again as the three of them sat in the library, searching for potion ingredients for Snape.

“I’m curious,” Hermione suddenly said, “why is Umbridge acting like nothing happened? Doesn’t she plan to take any further action?”

“I suspect she’s forgotten,” Ron said, taking a sip of water. “Isn’t that a good thing? Much better than her causing trouble all over Hogwarts, right, Harry?”

“That’s true,” Harry shrugged. “But the problem is, Umbridge is like a snake in the dark; you have to be careful when she might jump out and bite you.”

Hermione looked up and said, "You know what? We're going to Hogsmeade on the first weekend of October? How about we get together with some good friends and head to the Hog's Head for a little while?"

"Why Pig's Head Bar?" Ron asked.

“Because,” Hermione said, while continuing to copy the chart of Chinese venomous cabbage, “because Aberforth Dumbledore is the owner of the Hog’s Head, and I want to get to know him—Harry, do you know this Dumbledore?”

“Aberforth? I know him,” Harry said with a smile.

Yes, Harry certainly knew him. Aberforth was determined to break him and Vivi up because he believed Vivi was the evil Grindelwald.

It's quite interesting, actually.

“Of course,” Hermione said again. “There’s another reason we’re going to the Hog’s Head. We’ve arranged for all the fifth-year students to have their end-of-term assessments that day, haven’t we, Harry? It was Harry’s request. He’ll be there to check on everyone’s progress.”

“It’s a holiday,” Ron said, scratching his head. “Do all the classmates agree?”

“What’s there to refuse?” Hermione said, shrugging. “Isn’t this a form of leisure and entertainment? Of course, not inside the bar, but to have a drink in the bar first, check on the progress of our studies, and then go out for a real-world test.”

Ron thought for a moment, then looked up and made the sign of the cross on his chest—he wasn't a Christian, but at that moment, he still wanted to pray for his classmates.

Hopefully, neither of us will go too far when we hurt each other, so we don't end up in the school hospital.

The morning we went to Hogsmeade was sunny but windy.

After breakfast, they lined up in front of Filch, who was checking their names against a long list of students whose parents or guardians had allowed them to visit Hogsmeade Village.

The parent's signature in Harry's arms came from the Dursleys—the Dursleys are doing very well now...you could say they've completely achieved upward social mobility, with Uncle Vernon owning a company and making a fortune.

Of course, to express his gratitude to Harry, Uncle Vernon bought him a spacious apartment in the best part of London and a villa in the suburbs.

When Ron walked up to Filch, the caretaker sniffed hard, as if trying to detect something on Ron.

He nodded hastily, his chin trembling again, and Ron continued walking, reaching the stone steps and the cold, sun-drenched outdoors.

“Hmm—why is Filch sniffing you so hard?” Hermione asked as she, Harry, and Ron walked briskly down the wide driveway leading to the gate.

“I guess he wanted to smell if there were any dung balls,” Ron said with a grin. “I ordered a lot of dung balls from Fred and George, you know, he really dislikes Fred and George’s gadgets, especially dung balls. They’re really hard to clean off the hallways.”

"Then why did you buy this?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

“Let’s play.” Ron gave Hermione a strange look. “You didn’t think I was going to buy all this stuff to eat, did you?”

“It’s not impossible,” Harry remarked sarcastically from the side.

“Get lost,” Ron said with a laugh.

They walked along the main road, passing Joko's joke shop—where, unsurprisingly, they saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan—and then the post office, from which owls flew out every now and then.

Then they turned into a side street, where there was a small bar at the intersection.

A dilapidated wooden sign hangs on a rusty bracket above the door, depicting a severed wild boar head, its white cloth soaked with blood.

As they approached, the signboard creaked and rattled in the wind.

“This pig’s head…” Harry examined the pig’s head. “Is it changed every day? Why does it still look a bit fresh?”

"Hard to say," Ron said, also sizing him up.
“Let’s go in,” Hermione said, sounding a little nervous.

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Harry glanced at Hermione and said, “This pig’s head isn’t going to jump up and eat you, or do you have some kind of faith?”

"Pah!" Hermione glared at Harry.

Harry smiled and led the way inside.

It's completely different from the Three Brooms bar, where the large bar always feels bright, clean, and warm.

Pig Head Bar was a small, dark, and very dirty room that reeked of mutton.

Thick grime covered the bay windows, allowing almost no light to penetrate, and some candle stubs burned on the rough wooden table.

At first glance, Harry thought the ground was compacted dirt, but when he stepped on it, he realized that the ground, which was originally paved with stones, had accumulated grime over the centuries.

Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning the pub when he was a first-year student: "There are lots of fun guys in the Hog's Head." He said this to explain how he won a dragon egg from a hooded stranger in the pub.

Harry wondered why Hagrid didn't find it strange that the man kept his face completely covered while they were talking.

He then realized that hiding one's face seemed to be quite fashionable at the Pighead Bar. There was a guy at the bar whose entire head was wrapped in dirty gray bandages, but he was still managing to pour one smoky, flaming thing after another through a gap in the bandage over his mouth.

Two hooded figures sat at a table by the window, and if they weren't speaking with a heavy Yorkshire accent, Harry would have thought they were Dementors.

A witch sat in a dark corner by the fireplace, a thick black veil hanging down to her feet. They could only see the tip of her nose, as it pushed the veil up slightly.

"I think we should cover our faces too?" Hermione tugged at Harry and whispered.

"Why?" Harry asked, turning around in confusion.

“Look,” Hermione said, pointing to the group, “they’ve all covered their faces. If we don’t, won’t we seem a little out of place?”

“Not at all,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Don’t be nervous, the Hog’s Head is actually a pretty nice place, you see…”

He pulled several face masks out of his pocket. "If you want to cover your faces, then put on these masks."

Hermione and Ron were overjoyed and took the masks, putting them on their faces.

The bar owner slipped out of a back door and came to greet them.

He was a grumpy-looking old man with a huge tuft of gray hair and a beard—Harry recognized him immediately; it was Aberforth.

"What do you want?" he mumbled, glancing up at Harry.

“Three bottles of butterbeer, please,” Hermione said.

Aberforth bent down and pulled three dusty, filthy bottles from under the counter, placing them heavily on the bar.

“Six Sico,” he said.

“I’ll pay,” Hermione said quickly, handing over the silver coins.

Aberforth gathered the coins and put the money Hermione had given him into an old wooden money box. The drawer slid open automatically and swallowed the money.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at the bar. Hermione and Ron craned their necks, looking around, while Harry intently savored his butterbeer.

The man wrapped in dirty gray bandages tapped the counter with his knuckles and got a steaming drink from the bar owner.

“Guess what?” Ron murmured, gazing eagerly at the flaming whiskey in the bandaged man’s hand. “Here we can order whatever we want—I bet that guy will sell us anything, he doesn’t care. I’ve always wanted to try flaming whiskey—”

“You are a prefect!” Hermione said fiercely.

“Oh,” Ron said with his usual carefree smile, “Prefect, yes, oh I know I’m a prefect, but you should try something new, shouldn’t you, Hermione?”

“Ronald! Weasley!” Hermione’s hair stood on end as she glared at Ron as if she wanted to tear a piece of flesh from him.

"Okay, okay, I won't drink, I won't drink, I won't drink." Ron raised his hands in surrender. "I was just joking, do you really have to be so angry?"

"Not even jokes!" Hermione slammed her fist on the table.

"Alright then," Ron said, clicking his tongue.

“Even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t sell it to a minor like you,” Aberforth suddenly said. “Otherwise, your principal would come after me.”

"Boss?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow with a broad smile.

“Just call me Aberforth.” Aberforth smiled and said, “You must be Harry’s good friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I know you—and of course, you know who I am. I visited Hogwarts two years ago.”

“Hello, Aberforth,” the two said quickly.

"Would you like something to eat?" Aberforth said. "I have some good stuff here that everyone likes."

"Give me some!" Ron said with a beaming smile; he loved to eat.

If everyone likes to eat something, then it must be good.

Aberforth turned and left the counter, returning shortly afterward with three plates in his arms.

Ron looked at the dark, runny, and sticky stuff on the plate, and then glanced at Harry and Hermione with a hint of apprehension.

Hermione felt the same way, after all, this thing... looked really bad. Hermione even maliciously wondered if eating it would cause some kind of intestinal disease.

However, she still had to eat. Hermione closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and with a righteous look, put the food into her mouth.

Don't say...

Hey……

It's quite delicious.

“That’s really good.” Her brows relaxed. “Try it, Ron, try this. I think it’s quite delicious.”

"Really?" Ron closed one eye, opened the other to examine the food on the plate in front of him, picked up a spoon, scooped up a spoonful, and, with the thought of heroic sacrifice, ate it.

"Hmm...it really is delicious." He exclaimed, "I've never eaten anything that looks so bad but tastes so good. Merlin's pants..."

Just then, the fifth-grade students began to walk in one after another.

Everyone who arrived ordered a butterbeer, and after receiving their drinks, they sat down in small groups, chattering away, and a cheerful and pleasant atmosphere immediately rose from the shabby bar.

It felt somewhat out of place compared to the overall tone of the bar.

The wizards who were originally in the bar got up and left one after another after the students came in.

Aberforth glanced at his classmates, then at Harry, but remained silent.

Oh well, they're all guests anyway, he thought to himself.

Then he heard a hoarse, duck-like voice.

“I really didn’t expect there to be such a filthy pub in Hogsmeade,” said a boy with platinum blond hair. “I bet Harry must be crazy to have us meet in this run-down pub.”

(End of this chapter)