Chapter 135: Course Selection, and the Growing Three-Headed Dog

Unlike the relaxed and cheerful Christmas break, during the Easter holiday, the professors seemed to have piled a century’s worth of assignments together.

As a result, almost no one chose to go home for the holiday; everyone stayed at school.

And for second-year students, this Easter brought another important task: choosing their third-year courses, which many regarded as a matter requiring serious consideration.

Take Hermione, for example—she had been scribbling and crossing out on that parchment for two hours, unable to decide; every course she selected clashed in timing.

“Why not drop one course? Then everything would be solved,” Ron pointed out the key issue, but Hermione ignored him.

Ron shrugged and turned back to his own parchment.

“Divination, Numerology, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies…”

“Strange, why isn’t Potions on the list?” Harry asked. “I only want to drop Potions—even if I have to take five more courses, I don’t care.”

“Don’t even think about it. You still have to keep all your original subjects,” Hermione said, leaning over to look at the other side. “Silven, what did you choose?”

Silven casually pushed his parchment toward her; it was already marked.

“Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes,” Ron glanced and exclaimed in surprise. “Silven, how did you pick three courses? Did you make a mistake?”

“Professor McGonagall said we only need to choose two.”

“It’s a minimum of two,” Silven corrected. “And Divination and Care of Magical Creatures are both very easy courses—even if you take both, you won’t be tired.”

“Easy courses…” Ron’s eyes lit up. “Like Magical History?”

“Not that easy,” Silven said.

The professor of Magical History was a ghost; during class, you could write other assignments, play chess, or even sleep—as long as you made no noise, you could do whatever you wanted.

But Ron no longer cared about that—he immediately marked Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.

He would take those two.

Harry thought for a moment and made the same choice as Ron.

Hermione, by contrast, simply selected every course.

“Are you mad?” Ron’s voice rose sharply. “Fine, the others I can accept—but Muggle Studies? With all due respect, haven’t you studied enough about Muggles before the term even started?”

“But from a wizard’s perspective, it’s fascinating,” Hermione said.

“Exactly,” Percy, acting as advisor, nodded. “Wizards should have a comprehensive understanding of the non-magical world, especially if you plan to work closely with Muggles.”

Only Hermione took this to heart.

Harry suspected he’d likely end up in such a job after graduation, but he already understood Muggles well—he didn’t need to study them further. After all, his aunt and uncle were two standard Muggles.

How standard? Harry thought that if Muggle Studies had a textbook, the Dursleys’ photo would make a perfect cover illustration.

Silven didn’t care—he didn’t need to find another job anyway.

And although the course claimed to give wizards a thorough understanding of the non-magical world, in reality, Hogwarts’ Muggle Studies professor knew nothing at all.

Professor Kariidi Bubbage, like Mr. Weasley, was merely a Muggle enthusiast. Her knowledge of Muggles was partly true, the rest pure fantasy.

But unlike Mr. Weasley, Professor Bubbage genuinely admired Muggle technology and knowledge and never tried to turn them into magical artifacts.

She was also willing to learn Muggle knowledge—rumor had it she held graduation certificates from three of Britain’s most famous universities.

She had even published articles in the Daily Prophet, opposing pure-blood supremacy and emphasizing that Muggle-born wizards were equally excellent.

Professor Bubbage’s professional ability might not match Professor McGonagall’s or Professor Flitwick’s, but she was still the most suitable candidate.

Because she truly tried to understand the Muggle world from a wizard’s perspective—not merely listing what Muggles had or how to use their things…

Bubbage thought that was the job of a tour guide.

Of course, this still didn’t change the fact that Muggle Studies was the least popular course, ranking just above Ancient Runes.

It was also the first course Silven eliminated.

After lunch, Silven visited Hagrid again, planning to stock up on suitable materials during the Easter break.

Hagrid initially didn’t want to take Silven back into the Forbidden Forest—the number of students staying on campus for Easter was too high; it felt no different from term time, unlike Christmas, when the whole castle was empty.

Only when Silven mentioned they could stop by to see Fluffy did Hagrid agree.

Fluffy had strong regenerative abilities—his beard hairs, plucked last time, had already grown back. Silven didn’t hesitate; while Hagrid wasn’t looking, he plucked three more.

Fluffy didn’t mind—he was still dreaming of another delicious meal, and treated Silven with great kindness.

After all, pulling out a few beard hairs meant nothing to a creature with thick, tough skin.

“Hagrid, I feel like Fluffy has grown even bigger,” Silven asked, looking up.

“It’s normal,” Hagrid said. “Fluffy is two years old now—he’s entered his growth phase. Lately, his appetite has increased dramatically. The centaurs keep coming to me, saying Fluffy stole their prey.”

“As if the Forbidden Forest belonged to them…”

Hagrid disliked centaurs—he believed the Forbidden Forest had always been Hogwarts’ property, since the school’s founding a thousand years ago.

The centaurs’ bandit-like behavior disgusted him, so he didn’t care whether Fluffy stole their prey or not.

“Growth phase…” Silven stared up at the three-headed dog, now nearly eighteen feet tall, and clicked his tongue… So this thing could grow even more?

Twenty feet? Thirty feet? Surely it wouldn’t grow as tall as a dragon—fifty feet? That would be terrifying.

Silven patted Fluffy’s chin and casually pulled off another beard hair.

“Does it stay in the Forbidden Forest all the time?”

“Of course.”

“But is there enough food around here for it?” Silven asked.

“Don’t worry about that—the Forbidden Forest has plenty of food,” Hagrid said. “I also bring it meat regularly.”

“But this kennel seems too small now,” Hagrid sighed suddenly. “It’s growing less fond of coming home. Every time I bring food, I have to call Fluffy back.”

“Can Fluffy hear you calling it?”

“Sometimes,” Hagrid said. “But if it wanders too far, I have to use the whistle.”

“Whistle?” Silven looked over curiously.

“This one,” Hagrid pulled out a crude stone whistle from his pocket—clearly handmade by himself.

“When Fluffy was little, I used to sing to lull it to sleep. It loved music, so I made this whistle.”

“But now it doesn’t like music anymore—it won’t fall asleep even when it hears it,” Hagrid looked disappointed. “Still, it recognizes the whistle. When it hears the sound, it comes back.”

Silven smiled awkwardly and said nothing.

Fluffy no longer sleeping at the sound of music was probably his fault—but then again, it had also eliminated one of Fluffy’s weaknesses.

After spending a little longer there and feeding all the moose meat, Hagrid led Silven back.

“Hagrid, have you seen any other professors lately?” Silven asked casually as they walked along the forest path.

“Professor Sprout came by yesterday,” Hagrid said. “She was collecting plants and gathering mooncalf dung for fertilizer.”

“What about the others?” Silven continued. “For example, Professor McGonagall?”

“No,” Hagrid shook his head without hesitation. “Apart from Professor Sprout and Professor Snape, most professors rarely come to the Forbidden Forest. Why? Are you looking for her?”

“No, I was just curious,” Silven said, a little disappointed.

He had hoped to find that bottle through Hagrid—but it seemed Professor McGonagall already knew how close he and Hagrid were, and had denied him that chance.

(End of chapter)