The Hog's Head Inn

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 at all—"

"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 is—a bit—"

"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 Invisibility Cloak the whole time, and the Twins had you sandwiched between them to avoid being discovered. Don't worry, you're perfectly safe."

"Okay, that's fine 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 Potions ingredients for Snape.

"I'm really 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, sipping his 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 pounce 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 over to the Hog's Head Inn for a little while?"

"Why the Hog's Head Inn?" Ron asked.

"Because," Hermione said, continuing to copy the chart of Chinese Chomping Cabbage, "Because Abufosi Dumbledore owns the Hog's Head Inn's Head, and I want to get to know him— Harry, do you know this Dumbledore?"

"Abufosi? I know him," Harry said with a smile.

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

It's quite interesting, actually.

"Of course," Hermione said again, "There's another thing we need to do at the Hog's Head Inn. We've arranged to meet all the fifth-year students."

"The end-of-term assessment will be held that day, right, Harry? It's Harry's request; he'll be there to check on everyone's progress."

"It's a holiday, you know," Ron said, scratching his head. "Do all the classmates agree?"

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

Ron thought for a moment, then raised his head and made the sign of the cross on his chest—he wasn't a Christian, but at this moment, he still wanted to pray for his classmates, hoping they wouldn't be too ruthless when they hurt each other, so as not to end up in the Hospital Wing.

The morning we went to Hogsmeade village 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 Dursley family— the Dursley family are doing very well now—they have practically 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 much?" 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 was any Dungbomb," Ron said with a grin. "I ordered a lot of Dungbomb from Fred and George, you know, he really dislikes Fred and George's gadgets, especially Dungbomb. That stuff sticks in the hallway and is really hard to clean."

"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 said sarcastically from the side.

"Go to hell," Ron said with a laugh.

They walked along the main road, passing Zonko's Joke Shop —and unsurprisingly, there they saw Fred, George, and Lee.

Jordan passed by the post office, and every now and then some owls would fly out of it.

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

A dilapidated wooden sign hangs on a Scabbers bracket above the door, depicting a severed wild boar head, its bloodstains soaking through the white cloth wrapped around it.

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 somewhat fresh?"

"Hard to say," Ron said, looking her over as well. "Come on, let's go inside," 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 Broomsticks, where the large bar always feels bright, clean, and warm.

The Hog's Head Inn was just a small, dark, and very dirty room, reeking of sheep's belly.

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 a lot of fun guys in the Hog's Head Inn." 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 only realized now that hiding one's face seemed to be quite popular at the Hog's Head Inn.

There was a man at the bar whose entire head was wrapped in dirty gray bandages, but he was still able to pour one glass after another of something smoking and burning through a gap in the bandages over his mouth.

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

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 look a little out of place?"

"Not at all," Harry said with a chuckle. "Don't be nervous, the Hog's Head Inn is actually a pretty nice place, look—"

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 long gray hair and a beard— Harry recognized him immediately; it was Abufosi.

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

"Bring me three bottles of Butterbeer," Hermione said.

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

"Six Sickle," he said.

"I'll pay," Hermione said quickly, handing over the silver coins. Abufosi 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 received a steaming drink from the bar owner.

"Guess what?" Ron murmured, gazing with great enthusiasm at the Firewhisky 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 Firewhisky— "

"You—you—you—a first -Prefect!" Hermione said viciously.

"Oh," Ron said with his usual carefree laugh, "Prefect, yes, oh I know I'm 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 his body.

"Okay, okay, I won't drink it, I won't drink it," Ron said, raising 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," Abufosi suddenly said. "Otherwise, your Headmaster would come after me."

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

"Just call me Abufosi." Abufosi 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, Abufosi," the two said quickly.

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

"Give me some!" Ron said with a beaming smile; he loved eating the most.

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

Abufosi turned and left the counter, returning shortly afterward with three plates.

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

Hermione felt the same way, since the thing looked really bad. Hermione even had the malicious thought that eating it might 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 it.

Hey·--.

It's quite delicious.

"That's really good." Her brow relaxed. "Try it, Ron, try this. I think it's quite delicious."

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

"Mmm, 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.

Abufosi 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."