Chapter 339 Pig's Head Bar

The Christmas holiday has begun, and this rare leisure time did not let a few people breathe a sigh of relief.

Harry's whole body fell into a feeling of self-blame.

That is powerlessness against reality, extending to the chagrin of one's own powerlessness.

The days are approaching, but they have nothing to do.

write a letter?

Dumbledore may not be able to receive it.

And, as Moody's said, there's also the risk of being intercepted.

Hermione wasn't very good at comforting her either.

She also chooses to believe Harry's statement now, and now, whether rationally or emotionally, she believes that what Harry said is the truth.

But they couldn't convince Professor McGonagall.

That was absurd, and it would have been even worse if Snape finally found out.

Christmas is here.

Hogsmeade Village is very lively on Christmas Day. A group of men in brown leather coats surrounded the white snow and ice, singing solemn prayers.

Melodious and refreshing.

On a small road, a wizard wearing a high hat with pointed horns rode a black bull, walking slowly in the snow. The footprints were deep and shallow, and the footprints were deep and shallow. They stayed in the snow, and then quickly got caught. The fluttering snowflakes covered it.

Many students who stay on campus choose to pass their boring time here.

The students prefer to go to the Three Broomsticks Bar, where the drinks are more suitable for students' status, and there are also beautiful and charming lady bosses.

As for the pig's head bar, very few people went there, but some students vaguely felt that the boss there was somewhat similar to Dumbledore.

He has the same blue eyes as Dumbledore, as if he has the power to see through people like Dumbledore.

The inside of the Pig's Head Bar is completely different from the Three Broomsticks Bar. The large bar in the latter always makes people feel bright, clean and warm.

Pig's Head Bar is only a small, dark, and very dirty room, exuding a strong smell of sheep mutton. The bay windows were so thick with grime that the light barely penetrated, and candles were lit on the rough wooden table.

At first glance, one would only think that the ground was compacted mud, but when stepping on it, it was discovered that centuries of dirt had accumulated on the ground originally paved with stone.

The environment here is too rudimentary and mixed.

If it wasn't for the sake of avoiding sight, they certainly wouldn't be here.

There are hardly any Hogwarts students here, and it is suitable for them to discuss things that are inconvenient to talk about in school.

There was a man at the foot of the bar, his whole head wrapped in dirty gray bandages, but still able to pour cup after cup of a smoky, flaming substance through a gap in a bandage in his mouth.

At a table by the window sat two hooded figures, if they weren't talking in a heavy Yorkshire accent.

In a dark corner by the fireplace sat a witch, a thick black veil down to her feet. They could only see the tip of her nose, as it raised the mask slightly.

They can feel a dark wizard's temperament that is out of tune with the crowd.

Of course, it is limited to temperament, creating a certain illusion of deterring others.

If you really duel, maybe it's just embroidered pillows.

After all, Hogwarts is the safest place in the whole of the UK, and dark wizards are unlikely to be nearby.

When Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts, he would occasionally come to this filthy bar. His brother Aberforth was often reluctant to sell him alcohol, and even if he did, he often charged him inappropriate for the price. Aberforth wanted to charge him a few Galleons, but Dumbledore didn't mind and let him ask for the price.

Maybe guilt and atonement.

But in fact, wouldn't Aberforth feel guilty? Doesn't he have a little responsibility, doesn't he realize his problem.

He is also afraid that when he gets the truth, he can't continue to hate and hate his brother with peace of mind.

But in the bottom of his heart, he suffered no more than Dumbledore.

If the truth is not known for a day, he will still be the executioner of the third.

Even if you know, so what? Their poor sister also left them forever.

Separation between life and death is the most helpless thing in this world.

Walking into the bar, the three casually found a window seat and sat down.

"Would you like something to drink? I'll treat you today."

Ron volunteered, getting up from his seat.

"Three butterbeers, right?" Ron asked, and after receiving the reply, he went to order.

He leaned on his side and slowly squeezed from the crowded wooden tables to the bar.

There was an old man in burlap, which Ron guessed was the owner of the bar.

The bar owner has wire-grey hair and a long beard, and wears glasses, but the lenses are always dirty.

The blue eyes hidden behind the lenses were bright and sharp.

It's too similar to Dumbledore, except that he's sloppy and doesn't pay much attention, and still can't see it.

He was just pretending to be wiping a polished plate while watching the three students.

Now he put down the plate, and even more unabashedly looked at the boy who came to the counter.

"Three butterbeers," said Ron, as he was about to take money from his purse and hand it to the shopkeeper.

His hands froze.

"Twelve silver coins for three cups, you don't have enough money." The shopkeeper glanced at the silver coins in Ron's hand, shook his head, and turned to do other things.

"Butterbeer in other bars is two silver snickers!" Ron said angrily, blushing.

He slapped the six silver coins in his hand on the table.

"Then go to the bar you like. Don't come to me. I didn't ask you to come. Drink if you like it, or get out if you don't." The owner said gruffly, looking impatient. .

"You are robbery."

"I'm happy." The shopkeeper said needlessly.

"Okay, Ron, stop arguing." Hermione looked at Ron as if he was about to clash with the shopkeeper.

rushed over immediately.

"Sorry." She handed the remaining six silver coins on the table.

"We have no time to waste, we are here to do business." She lowered her voice and said to Ron.

"Let's go," Hermione said, and returned to their seats with Ron.

After a while, the waiter brought their drinks.

It's different from the yellow, bubbling butterbeer at Three Broomsticks that looks appetizing.

There is a layer of foam that I don't know what is floating on the surface, and the aroma is also lacking.

Ron took a sip, then coughed sharply.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "It sucks."

"Okay, stop talking, we're not here to drink today."

"We've been noticed by Professor McGonagall."

"Harry, it may not have been a wise decision for you to go to her in the first place..."

...

"Then what should we do? Are we just watching?" Ron said angrily.

"Professor McGonagall doesn't believe us now," he continued.

"I'm going to the Ministry of Magic that day." Harry clenched his fists.

"That's too dangerous!" Hermione wanted to scream, but restrained herself and whispered.

She clutched her chest and took a few deep breaths.

"Then Professor Dumbledore's situation will only be more dangerous!" Harry said fiercely,

"You said it too, Grindelwald is a dark wizard no less than Voldemort." Harry gasped.

...

Christmas is supposed to be a day of fun.

But they were not happy, worried about the future, and discussed the future countermeasures.

Especially Harry, the dream that appeared in his head was so disturbing that he couldn't even relax for a moment. 10