Ron, who had been suppressing his feelings all along, finally exploded after Hermione's attack, and his target was Marcel.
"Don't you have anything to say!"
This was the third time Ron had said this. He looked like a malfunctioning repeater.
Marcel was pressed against the bedside cabinet door by Ron with all his strength. He looked at him expressionlessly and without saying a word.
"Ron..." Harry walked over and tugged at Ron's clothes, but he was ignored.
He just stared at Marcel's face, the anger on his face almost overflowing.
After their initial surprise, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey hurried over to pull Ron away. They looked very puzzled, not knowing what had happened between Ron and Marcel.
Marcel stood up, calmly straightening his wrinkled outer robe, but his eyes once again drifted to Hermione's face.
"Marcel! Don't you want to explain what happened!" Ron was still shouting. Although Professor McGonagall held him back and he couldn't rush over again, the anger on his face had not diminished in the slightest.
Harry looked back and forth between Ron and Marcel with a troubled expression, not knowing what to do.
"Marcel, I heard that you and Professor Lockhart were the first to discover Hermione..." Harry said. "I was wondering... did you see who did it?"
Harry spoke very tactfully, but his tone also contained some hesitation.
Marcel didn't raise his head. He just looked at Hermione and shook his head slightly.
"Of course he didn't see it! Because he did it, didn't he!" Ron was no longer struggling. He just stared at Marcel hatefully and said angrily.
"Enough! I trust Mr. Maclean, and you should trust him too. Aren't you friends?" Professor McGonagall said seriously, her hands on Ron's shoulders.
"Yeah! Friends..." Ron turned his head away, no longer looking at Marcel.
That night, Marcel leaned against the window behind Hagrid's hut, maintaining his invisibility, waiting quietly.
Harry and Ron didn't come. This was probably because Harry had not received the hint he should have gotten from Tom Riddle's—that is, young Voldemort's—diary.
Fifty years ago, the young Voldemort had framed Hagrid, putting all the blame on him. Although keeping a dangerous creature like an Acromantula was indeed a big problem, it had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets after all.
This should have been an important clue for Harry, which could have led him to the Acromantula Aragog, which would have at least helped Harry understand some things.
But now, Harry and Ron would no longer know about that fifty-year-old business, and Marcel didn't want them to know about it now either.
Now that students, and even ghosts, were being petrified frequently, the Ministry of Magic had already taken action. And Lucius Malfoy, who had always despised Dumbledore, took this opportunity to force other members of the school board to sign an order for Dumbledore's dismissal.
The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had already arrived. Of course, Dumbledore himself also came along.
"This is very bad, Hagrid," Fudge said in a crisp, rapid tone. "Very bad indeed. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."
"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir—"
"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.
"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's got to do something—the school governors have been in touch—"
"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," said Dumbledore.
His blue eyes were full of a fire rarely seen.
"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty—"
"Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling all over. "Take me where?"
"For a short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full apology—"
"Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid.
Before Fudge could answer, there came yet another loud rap on the door.
Dumbledore turned to open it.
It was Lucius Malfoy. He strode into Hagrid's hut, wrapped in a long black traveling cloak, with a cold, satisfied smile on his face.
Fang started to bark.
"Already here, Fudge," he said approvingly. "Good, good..."
"What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get out of my house!"
"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your—er—d'you call this a house?" said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin.
"I simply called at the school and was told that the Headmaster was here."
"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.
"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension—you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you've rather lost your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what a terrible loss that would be to the school."
"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended—no, no—last thing we want just now—"
Marcel leaned against the back of the hut, listening to the conversation inside, but his eyes kept moving on the ground, as if searching for something.
He had come here specifically, naturally not just to eavesdrop on those useless words, at least that was not the main purpose.
"...Got it."
Suddenly, Marcel squatted down, looked at the line of small spiders on the ground, and thought to himself.
Now that the target had been found, there was no need to continue staying here. He followed the little team of spiders, step by step, into the Forbidden Forest.
In Hagrid's hut, Dumbledore's eyes swept in the direction Marcel was moving, but his face showed no flaw.
…
As soon as the little spiders entered the forest, their speed suddenly increased.
Marcel had to light his wand and run after them. But after a while, he heard a loud clicking sound and suddenly felt a long, hairy thing lift him up by the waist, suspending him face-down in midair.
This was an Acromantula that had not yet reached adulthood, but the species' unique size still allowed it to easily lift a child in his teens.
Marcel calmly pointed his wand at its pincers, but it did not seem to intend to eat him on the spot. Instead, it carried Marcel and ran.
Creatures with eight legs were obviously very agile, and their crawling speed in the dense forest was still very fast.
Gradually, the darkness seemed to suddenly recede a little. By the bright moonlight tonight, one could see that the leaf-covered ground was now densely covered with spiders.
He twisted his neck and found that they had come to the edge of a wide hollow.
The trees in the hollow had been cleared, and a large number of Acromantulas had gathered inside.
Unlike the small juvenile spiders scurrying through the fallen leaves below, each of these was as large as two horses.
The giant spider holding Marcel went down the steep slope towards a misty, dome-shaped web in the middle of the hollow. Its companions surrounded it. When they saw what it was holding, they all moved their pincers excitedly, making a clicking sound.
The spider released its claws, and Marcel fell onto the soft dead leaves. He dusted himself off, then stood up calmly.
The spider that had thrown him was speaking. Believe me, this was not easy to tell, because it clicked its pincers with every word.
"Aragog!" it called. "Aragog!"
From the middle of the misty, dome-shaped web, an elephant-sized spider emerged very slowly. Its body and legs were gray-black, and each eye on its ugly, pincered head was covered with a white film.
"What is it?" it said.
A clicking sound, and the two pincers moved rapidly.
"Humans," said the spider that had just grabbed Marcel.
"Is it Hagrid?" said Aragog, moving closer, its eight milky-white eyes gazing blankly.
"Unfortunately, no."
Marcel looked at the huge form of the Acromantula before him, seemingly confirming something.
"Kill him," Aragog said irritably as soon as he heard. "I was sleeping..."
"There's no benefit in killing me—"
Marcel looked at him calmly, and casually took out a bottle, pulled out the cork, and made a "pop" sound.
"What... what!" Aragog suddenly clicked and retreated a good distance. "Oh! Damn it—I hate that smell!"
Like Aragog, his children and grandchildren also retreated in panic, creating a circular clearing in the already somewhat crowded hollow.
"Aragog, I think you shouldn't be unfamiliar with this smell..." Marcel said, looking at Aragog. "Are you interested in making a deal?"
"The wisdom of the Acromantula race has always been overshadowed by their innate ferocity, which has led to its neglect by other races. But at least I believe that you should understand the benefits that 'trade' can bring... By the way, I'm a student at Hogwarts and a friend of Hagrid's. It was he who told me the story of you and Hagrid fifty years ago."
The full story is available on Patreon!
now at 40% OFF!
patreon.com/Zefyrus