The Elder Catgirl Who Came for a Free Meal

Chapter 44: The Freeloading Older Catgirl

Hagrid skillfully brewed tea for everyone, the leaves a gift of Pu'er from Brook.

But aside from Brook, everyone else chose to add sugar to their tea.

What a waste of good leaves.

Then Hermione recounted everything she had just witnessed, in full detail.

Ron instantly bristled. "I knew it—it had to be Snape! He tried to kill you, Harry!"

"Impossible, why would Snape do that?" Hagrid objected outright.

So Harry laid out his earlier theory about Snape trying to steal something past Fluffy.

"You've seen Fluffy? Wait, why have you seen Fluffy?"

Hagrid's eyes went wide with curiosity.

"Is that the point?" Harry said, a bit frantic. "The point is Snape wants to steal that thing."

He felt Hagrid, like Brook, always focused on the weirdest details.

"Impossible, Snape wouldn't." Hagrid shook his head like a rattle-drum.

"Then why would Snape try to kill Harry?"

Hermione now stood firmly on Harry's side.

She'd singed Snape's robes, and Harry's Flying Broomstick had returned to normal.

Was that just a coincidence?

She didn't buy it.

"I don't know why Harry's broom acted up," Hagrid frowned, struggling to explain.

"But Snape would never try to kill Harry. And what Fluffy guards has nothing to do with you—it's between Headmaster Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel..."

"So that involves someone named Nicolas Flamel, right?" Harry cut in eagerly.

Hagrid was annoyed. He looked to Brook for help.

Everyone else turned to Brook too.

Brook sighed helplessly.

The Sorting Hat really hadn't mis-sorted Harry.

"Harry, your guess does have some plausibility."

Harry immediately wore a smug expression.

That little look seemed to say, "Finally you admit I'm right."

"But have you considered one thing? What are the odds of killing Harry by making his broom go haywire?" Brook asked.

"How many? Harry was fifty meters up," Ron jumped in, waving his hand to exaggerate the height. "Falling from that high, he'd be dead or crippled."

"Then let me tell you—the chance of Harry dying, or even getting hurt, is zero." Brook said flatly.

"Why?" Harry's head was full of question marks.

"Not counting that I could open a Space Gate to save you anytime, Professor McGonagall and the others had their wands out. With their skill, rescuing you would be a piece of cake."

"But that doesn't prove it wasn't Snape," Harry countered.

"True, but unless Snape's head was full of Cogon grass at that moment, he wouldn't kill you in front of everyone."

Brook saw Harry about to argue again and pressed on.

"You'd better look up Snape's standing in the potion world. If he wanted to kill you, honestly, it'd be easier than squashing an ant, and no one would ever trace it back to him."

"Say what you will, I still think it's Snape, and I'm going to look into this," Harry said stubbornly.

"That's your right, isn't it?"

Brook shrugged, too tired to argue further.

He'd said enough to be more than generous.

And he suddenly realized he seemed a bit... off.

Preaching was what he'd hated most as a kid, yet here he was doing the same to Harry.

He really ought to rein it in. Kids being naive was normal.

Why bother trying to twist their thinking?

In the end, the gathering broke up on a sour note.

Harry and Ron headed back to the castle.

Brook and Hermione stayed behind to eat Hot Pot with Hagrid.

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By now, the Black Lake was frozen over, but Hagrid had somehow gotten a basket of Gulping Plimpies.

They looked a bit like pufferfish but were non-toxic.

The whole fish had not a single bone except for the head.

It was absolutely perfect for hotpot.

"Brook, do you really think it's not Snape? But what happened this afternoon was way too coincidental."

Hermione leaned close to Brook's ear and whispered.

She didn't want Hagrid to hear, or he'd definitely object again.

"Nothing's a hundred percent certain. But that kind of low-level trick? It's really unlikely Snape would use it."

Brook didn't remember the plot all that well, but Snape had been teaching at Hogwarts for years.

If he really wanted to kill the Boy Who Lived, Dumbledore's precious treasure, There's no way he'd still be alive and well right under Dumbledore's nose.

"I want to keep investigating for Harry," Hermione said firmly.

"Of course, go for it. I've got your back," Brook encouraged.

A sweet smile flickered across Hermione's face.

For the first time, Brook dipped his chopsticks into the clear broth.

The fish meat was tender and springy, a burst of savory flavor blooming on his tongue.

The broth, after simmering, was incredibly rich and fragrant, leaving a lingering aftertaste.

They were eating hotpot and singing songs when an "uninvited guest" showed up.

Maybe it was the mouthwatering aroma of the Gulping Plimpy, drifting through the doors and windows of Hagrid's Hut all the way to Hogwarts.

It had actually lured the older cat lady, Professor McGonagall, over.

"I always heard you all were sneaking extra meals here at Hagrid's. I didn't expect it to be true!"

Professor McGonagall had a gentle smile on her face.

Hermione stood up immediately, her voice tinged with nervousness. "Professor McGonagall."

Hagrid scratched his head awkwardly. "Minerva..."

"Professor, if you don't mind, why not join us for a bit? We've got plenty of Transfiguration questions we'd love to ask you."

Brook wasn't as stiff as the others and directly invited her.

Professor McGonagall hesitated.

She really had been drawn by the smell and wanted to eat.

But actually sitting down to dine with students felt out of step with her usual image and status.

Still, her gaze kept drifting to the pot, and Brook had already caught that cat-like longing.

So he took Professor McGonagall's hand and guided her to a seat.

Startled by the sudden move, she shot Brook a reproachful look.

Brook just smiled. He was young enough that a little breach of etiquette didn't matter.

He fished out a whole fish onto a plate, ladled a big bowl of fish soup, and set it in front of Professor McGonagall.

Hermione quickly brought over a knife and fork.

Professor McGonagall stared at the fish in front of her, her throat involuntarily bobbing.

She pulled a bottle of pink-glowing drink from her pocket.

"Thank you. I happen to have a bottle of Fizzing Whizbees here—consider it a return gift."

Brook didn't stand on ceremony. He took the Fizzing Whizbees and poured a glass for everyone.

Well.

Hagrid's cup was bigger.

That amount wasn't even enough for one gulp for him.

"Welcome, Professor McGonagall." Brook raised his glass directly.

Everyone raised their glasses and took a sip.

Then, in unison, they all let out a breath.

A stream of pink bubbles floated from their mouths.

The atmosphere instantly became lighter and merrier.

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