The Slytherin team members were laughing uncontrollably. Flint was bent over, clutching his broom for support, while Malfoy was on all fours, pounding the ground with his fists in hysterics. Meanwhile, the Gryffindor team members gathered around Ron, who was incessantly vomiting large, shiny slugs. No one seemed eager to touch him.
"We'd better take him to Hagrid's place—it's the closest," Harry said to Hermione, who bravely nodded. Together, they pulled Ron up by his arms and began heading toward the hut.
"I'll come with you," Augustus offered. "Since Ron's wand malfunction is partly my fault, I'll see if I can help him fully recover once we reach Hagrid's." Harry nodded, and the four of them made their way toward the gamekeeper's hut.
"What's wrong, Harry? What happened? Is he sick? But you can cure him, right?" Colin Creevey appeared, bouncing alongside them as they left the Quidditch pitch.
Ron's body convulsed violently, causing more slugs to fall onto his chest. "Oh—" Colin said, intrigued as he raised his camera. "Can you hold him still for a moment, Harry?"
"Go away, Colin!" Harry snapped irritably.
Before long, they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
"We're almost there, Ron," Hermione encouraged as Hagrid's hut came into view. "Just hold on… we're almost there."
As they approached Hagrid's door, it suddenly swung open—but instead of Hagrid, Gilderoy Lockhart emerged, wearing his lightest lavender robes.
"Quick, hide," Harry whispered, pulling Augustus behind a nearby bush. Hermione and Ron reluctantly followed.
"It's quite simple if you know how to do it!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need any help, you know where to find me. I'll even send you one of my books—can't believe you don't already own a copy! I'll sign it for you tonight. Well then, goodbye!" Lockhart strode back toward the castle.
Augustus frowned. What is Lockhart doing here? Recruiting followers? Considering Hagrid's gullible nature, it wasn't impossible for him to become one of Lockhart's admirers. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor certainly didn't seem like the type to stay out of trouble.
Once Lockhart had disappeared from sight, the four emerged from the bushes and knocked urgently on Hagrid's door.
Hagrid opened it, initially looking annoyed, but his face lit up when he saw who it was.
"I've been wondering when you lot would come by—come in, come in!" he said warmly. "Oh, and Augustus, welcome to you too!"
Inside the hut, the fireplace crackled cheerfully. One wall featured an oversized bed, while the other was adorned with various tools and supplies. Harry helped Ron into a chair.
"Hagrid, could you bring a large basin over here?" Augustus asked, scanning the room. Hagrid immediately fetched a large copper basin and set it in front of Ron.
Drawing his wand, Augustus cast a "Vomit Spell" on Ron. Ron doubled over and began retching slugs into the basin. After what felt like an eternity, Augustus cast "Reparo" on Ron's wand. Finally, Ron stopped vomiting and sighed in relief.
"Thanks, Augustus. You saved me again," Ron said gratefully, wiping his mouth.
"It's nothing. I still feel partly responsible—your wand wouldn't have been damaged if I'd acted sooner when the Whomping Willow attacked your car," Augustus replied with a touch of guilt.
Hagrid bustled around, brewing tea as his massive boarhound Fang drooled onto Harry's lap.
"What was Lockhart doing here, Hagrid?" Harry asked as he scratched Fang's ears.
"Tryin' to teach me how to stop water demons from getting into the well," Hagrid grumbled, setting a kettle on the table. "Like I don't know that already. And bragging about chasing away banshees—if any of it's true, I'll eat my kettle."
Hearing Hagrid criticize a Hogwarts professor was rare. Harry stared at him, surprised. Hermione, on the other hand, spoke in a slightly raised voice, "I think you're being unfair. Dumbledore clearly thought he was the best person for the job—"
"The only person for the job," Hagrid interrupted, setting down a plate of fudge. "It's hard to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher these days. People think the position's cursed. No one lasts long."
Turning to Ron, Hagrid asked, "Who was the spell meant for, anyway?"
"Malfoy," Ron croaked from the edge of the table. "He called Hermione a… a 'Mudblood,' Hagrid."
"That word again…" Augustus murmured, glancing at Hagrid.
"Mudblood's a nasty term," Hagrid explained, his face darkening. "It's what some wizards call folks born to Muggle parents—like Hermione. Wizards like the Malfoys think they're better than everyone else because they're 'pure-blood.'"
"But we all know that's rubbish," Hagrid added. "Look at Neville Longbottom—pure-blood, but he can't even set a cauldron right half the time."
"Yet Hermione can cast spells they haven't even invented yet!" Hagrid said proudly, making Hermione blush.
"So it's really just an insult," Augustus said thoughtfully. "And, as far as I know, Voldemort wasn't a pure-blood wizard either. Yet his power surpassed many so-called 'pure-bloods.' It proves that magical ability has nothing to do with ancestry. Hermione, don't take it to heart."
At the mention of Voldemort's name, Ron and Hagrid shivered involuntarily.
To lighten the mood, Hagrid suddenly said, "By the way, Harry, I've got a bone to pick with you. I hear you've been giving out signed photos—where's mine?"
"I don't give out signed photos!" Harry protested indignantly. "If Lockhart's spreading rumors like that—"
"I'm joking, I'm joking," Hagrid said, clapping Harry on the back so hard his face hit the table.
The weather was turning colder, and the wind rattled against the hut's door. Augustus glanced out the window. The shifting light and rolling clouds over the Forbidden Forest lent an air of distant majesty to the scene.
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