Hog's Head Inn

After leaving Gaunt Ancestral Home, Dumbledore summoned Fawkes, and crimson flames surged before the two of them.

"Phew, what an interesting adventure." Dumbledore stroked Fawkes's feathers, then turned to Lucien. "Let's have a meal together. And while we're at it, we can talk about the Resurrection Stone and the Deathly Hallows."

Lucien, of course, did not refuse.

Crimson flames enveloped the two of them, and they vanished.

A moment later, the flames died down, and the two figures appeared in front of a dilapidated tavern.

A tattered wooden sign hangs above the entrance, fixed to the wall by a Scabbers iron frame.

The sign depicts a severed pig's head, with blood seeping through the white cloth wrapped around it; its bloody appearance is unsettling at first glance.

Lucien stared at the "very unique" sign, blinked, and thought, "This pig's head is..."

He turned to look at Dumbledore, who had already pushed open the greasy, heavy wooden door, the hinges making a long, grating creak.

Lucien withdrew his gaze from the signboard and followed Dumbledore inside.

As soon as he stepped across the threshold, a strong smell of mutton hit him, mixed with the odor of old wood and dust, making Lucien sniff involuntarily, wanting to air it out.

The room was small, with a few crooked tables and a few chairs with unsteady legs. A thick layer of grime had accumulated on the bay windows, and almost no light could get in.

At first glance, the ground looked like compacted mud, but Lucien discovered after stepping on it that it was originally stone ground covered with layers of grime accumulated over the years, giving it a slightly sticky feel when stepped on.

Behind the counter stood an old man, tall and thin, with messy gray hair and beard covering most of his face, slowly wiping a glass.

He didn't raise his head, his voice hoarse and rough:

"It's not business hours now. Even if it were, I couldn't afford to entertain the great Hogwarts Headmaster— "

Dumbledore seemed oblivious to the bartender's order to leave and began ordering food as if nothing had happened:

"Let's have today's special."

The old man ignored him completely and continued wiping the already gleaming glass with a rag.

Dumbledore wasn't embarrassed. He turned and pointed at Lucien, then said:

"This is for this young wizard. He saved this old man's life today, so I came especially to treat him to the best food in the world."

Upon hearing "Help!", the old man behind the counter paused slightly while wiping, and finally looked up at the two of them.

When the old man looked up, Lucien saw his face clearly: a tall, thin figure, messy hair and beard, a gloomy face, and a slightly unsettling aura about him.

But his eyes—the color and shape of those eyes—were Dumbledore's, a deep, penetrating blue that seemed to see through everything.

Lucien's gaze lingered on the old man's face for a moment, combined with the pig's head at the door, his "bad attitude" towards Dumbledore, and, well, the stench of mutton in the tavern...

He immediately recognized the old man.

Aberforth, Aberforth Dumbledore.

It was Headmaster Dumbledore's younger brother, who was standing next to Lucien.

Aberforth put down his glass. "You've tricked another greenhorn into doing this and that for you? Oh, just like that Hufflepuff kid from years ago."

Then, looking Lucien up and down, his tone tinged with scrutiny, "Hey, kid, which college are you from?"

"Ravenclaw."

Aberforth shook his head. "Tsk, Ravenclaw are all shrewd people, can they really be fooled into doing work?"

Lucien thought to himself that Aberforth and Ms. Tina shared similar views on Dumbledore's "personnel management," and that the two must have a lot in common.

Aberforth said nothing more, turned and walked toward the stove behind him, his boots making a dull thud on the ground.

Dumbledore and Lucien casually found a seat towards the back of the room and sat down.

"This is Hogsmeade. You can visit here freely next semester."

Aberforth, who was stirring the soup, casually interjected, "Only on certain weekends."

Dumbledore seemed not to hear him and continued, "This guy sneaks out to play in the Forbidden Forest in his first year, so coming to Hogsmeade is a piece of cake for him, isn't it?"

Lucien looked embarrassed and lowered his head, pretending to examine the stains on the table.

Aberforth let out a cryptic "yo-ho" from the stove.

"What a fearless brat. Why didn't the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor?"

In the short time it took to say just a few words, Aberforth had already come over with a plate and casually tossed it onto the table in front of Lucien.

The plate contained a lump of grayish paste—or rather, not entirely gray, as it was mixed with various colors: green, yellow, red... as if some food scraps had been mixed in.

Of course, Dumbledore wasn't included.

Aberforth turned and went back behind the counter, picking up the glass again to wipe it as if he could make flowers bloom.

Dumbledore didn't seem to mind at all, and cheerfully said, "Don't be shy, Lucien, have a taste. It's delicious."

Lucien looked down at the lump of mush on the plate and remained silent for a moment.

Is this really edible?

Under Dumbledore's encouraging gaze, Lucien finally picked up his spoon, scooped up a spoonful, and boldly put it into his mouth.

As the mushy flavor exploded on his tongue, Lucien's eyes lit up slightly.

Wow, appearances can be deceiving!