Chapter 137. Your Courage and Conduct Are Commendable, Ron
At nine o'clock the next morning, Adrian Wesson arrived at Hagrid's hut right on time.
However, it seemed he was late. As he reached the door, he happened to run into Gilderoy Lockhart coming out.
"Good morning, Professor Wesson!" Lockhart said, bright-eyed and breezy. "What a coincidence! Since our last conversation, have you given my suggestion proper thought?"
Wesson raised an eyebrow, wearing a puzzled look. "What suggestion?"
"Oh, don't play dumb!" Lockhart drawled in that affected tone of his. "Your adventures, of course—are you going to write them up? For example, the tale of how you met your Thunderbird—what do you think?"
Only then did Wesson remember that, during their last chat, Lockhart had indeed brought up the idea of writing a book.
"You'll have fame to match mine," Lockhart coaxed on.
Wesson merely shook his head.
"Fame isn't any good," he said coolly, looking at Lockhart with a steady gaze. "It only draws needless trouble—like a moth to a flame."
Lockhart's smile froze, a shadow flashing in his eyes.
He stepped back a few paces, lowering his voice. "Professor Wesson, that's not a very sensible thing to say. In this world, fame is important. It brings you Galleons, status, and…"
As he spoke, his fingers drifted, almost unconsciously, to the wand at his waist; his eyes flickered. When he noticed Wesson's gaze fixed on his hand, he quickly hid it behind his back and pasted on that familiar false grin again.
"Ah, I must be off," Lockhart said, winking at Wesson. "My fans are still waiting for my replies!"
Once Lockhart had gone, Wesson knocked on Hagrid's door.
The door opened quickly. Hagrid poked his head through the crack to have a look, then let out a great sigh of relief when he saw it was Wesson.
He swung the door fully open and ushered Wesson inside.
Hagrid brewed a great pot of tea for him.
"I thought it was Lockhart again!" he huffed, face flushed, as if something had truly got his back up. "That bloke…"
"What did he do?" Wesson asked, curious.
"Just the usual boasting," Hagrid said, yanking cups from a cupboard and thunking them down on the table, growing more agitated as he spoke. "Teach me how to make a water demon crawl into a well, and how to deal with a banshee—if he's right about any of it, I'll eat this teapot on the spot!"
"Sounds exactly like something Lockhart would say." Wesson took the cup. Sometimes the words of a fool only serve to anger others—yet the fool remains none the wiser.
Clearly, Lockhart was just such a "fool."
Hagrid was already angry from his nonsense.
Just then, a rapid knocking sounded again.
"Please don't let it be Lockhart again…" Hagrid muttered, striding to the door.
When he pulled it open, several unexpected figures stood on the threshold.
"Ah, it's you lot—come in, welcome—been wondering when you'd pop by to see me," Hagrid's delighted voice carried back to Wesson.
Wesson turned his head. Harry and Hermione were half-carrying a very pale Ron into the hut.
After they hauled Ron onto a chair, Wesson asked, worried, "Has something happened?"
Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead, only then noticing Wesson there.
"The Slug-Vomiting Charm," he told Wesson. "On the Quidditch pitch, some Slytherins insulted Hermione, and Ron stood up for her—then he got hit by a Slug-Vomiting Charm."
"Was it only Ron who was hit?" Wesson looked him over; his condition was clearly not right.
"More Slytherins got hexed than we did!" Ron groaned over the table, face greenish, a string of slimy green ooze still at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't lose!"
No sooner had he said it than he gave a convulsive hiccup. A small slug slid out of his mouth and splatted onto the wooden floor.
"Ugh!" Hermione cried, whipping out her wand. "Scourgify."
The charm only cleared away the slug; Ron's state didn't improve in the slightest.
Hermione then started to explain what had happened.
Because Draco Malfoy had called her "Mudblood," Ron stood up for her and got into a fight with Malfoy.
In the end, it escalated into a full-on brawl between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
Ron had hit several Slytherins with the Slug-Vomiting Charm, but a spell rebounded by accident and caught him too, leaving him under its effects.
Wesson glanced at Ron despite himself. It seemed Ron was stronger than he had expected.
After all, the Slug-Vomiting Charm wasn't easy for a second-year to manage.
"Your courage and conduct are commendable, Ron," Wesson said with a nod.
"I agree!" Hermione said, a little cheered.
A faint flush rose to Ron's pale cheeks. He tried to sit up straighter, but bent over again, nauseated.
Another slug slipped out of his mouth, yet he managed a grin. "Th—thanks, Professor."
Meanwhile—
"Mudblood… disgraceful," Hagrid muttered off to the side.
Hearing him, Hermione looked puzzled. "Speaking of that word Malfoy used… 'Mudblood'—what does it mean?"
"A very serious insult," Hagrid said angrily. "It's not a nice word—it's what those who fancy their bloodline 'pure' call witches and wizards born to Muggles."
Hermione nodded, thoughtful.
"He was calling you filthy-blooded," Ron said, lifting his head to reassure her. "Don't take it to heart, Hermione. The Malfoys are all like that."
Harry nodded in agreement.
Ron hiccuped again; another slug hit the floor.
He wiped his mouth weakly. "Le—let's not talk about that now. Can someone tell me… urgh… how to deal with these blasted slugs?"
At Ron's words, every gaze turned to Wesson.
Here, Wesson was the only one with truly formidable magic.
"I don't know the counter-charm to the Slug-Vomiting Charm…" Wesson blinked. "Wait… I've thought of another way. Ron, come stand by me."
As he spoke, Wesson let Devil's Snare extend from beneath his robes.
Hagrid hoisted Ron up and set him before Wesson.
"Finite Incantatem!"
Devil's Snare and Wesson cast together; a burst of light surged over Ron.
At once, the clammy, sticky feeling in Ron's throat vanished.
"So it's that spell…" Harry thought to himself.
Wesson had used it once before at the station.
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