In fact, the carnival lasted until about ten o'clock, and anyway, for Van Lin, the warm hearth and the supple Hermione, a silent magic spell were completely two worlds.

And Harry ended up joining them, and it was obviously unreliable to involve a very nauseous person in a carnival.

But Harry was looking forward to the next day's Hogsmeade trip more than the party.

It was dawn on the day we went to Hogsmeade, and the weather was sunny but windy. After breakfast, they lined up in front of Mr. Filch, who checked their names from a long list of names of all those who had permission from their parents or guardians to go to the village.

Harry felt a little uneasy in his conscience, and he thought that he couldn't go at all if it weren't for Sirius.

When Harry lined up in front of Filch, the caretaker sniffed him as if he wanted to find something out of Harry, then he simply nodded and raised his chin as Harry walked past him onto the cold, sun-drenched stone path.

Van Lin was surprised that he had been treated in the same way, and that because of Mrs. Loris, Van Lin and Mr. Filch had always had a good relationship, but Umbridge's arrival changed that.

"Well—why did Filch sniff you like that?" asked Ron as Van Lin, Harry, and Hermione walked briskly down the road leading to the gate. "I think he smelled of a big dung bomb," Harry smiled, "I forgot to tell you......"

Then he told him about the letter he had sent to Sirius, and then a few seconds later Feig rushed in and asked to see the letter. To his little surprise, Hermione was very interested in what he said, even more than he did.

"He said he got the news that you ordered a stink bomb, but who told him?"

"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders, "maybe Malfoy, he'll find it ridiculous." ”

"Perhaps, though, I'd rather be Umbridge's way to let the Administrator spy on us, but ......" Van Lin smiled, letting a Squib spy on the two wizards, and thanks to Umbridge's idea, Mrs. Loris would definitely not help Umbridge, which both Van Lin and Hermione could guarantee.

Could it be that those small dried fish in Crook Hill were fed for nothing?

The four men walked through the middle of the tall stone pillars topped with winged beasts, then turned right onto the road leading to the village, the wind blowing their hair into their eyes.

She had been pondering Van Lin's words all the way to Hogmad, and there was no doubt that the girl would always become sensitive when it came to Umbridge.

"Where the hell are we going?" asked Harry, "three broomsticks?"

"I don't know. Fan Lin said, yesterday he was distracted, and he didn't care too much about what the girl said.

"Oh—no," Hermione said, waking up from her musings, "no, it's always crowded and noisy. I've told the others to meet us at Hoghead, and it's another bar, you know, it's not on the big road. I guess it's a bit ...... You know...... Take cover...... But students don't usually go, so I don't think anyone will eavesdrop. ”

They walked down the main road, past Jokowi's joke shop, and unsurprisingly, there they met Fred, George and Lee Jordan, passed by the post office, where the owls set out at regular intervals, and turned onto a path with a tavern at its end. A splintered wooden sign hung from a rusty stand above the door, with a stern boar's head dripping with its blood dripping on the white cloth around it. As they approached, the sign creaked in the wind, and the three of them hesitated in the doorway.

"Well, come on," Hermione said a little nervously, and Van Lin took the lead and walked in.

It's completely different here than Three Broomsticks, and the big bar there has a shinyly warm, clean feel. The Hog's Head Bar, on the other hand, is a small, dark, and very dirty room that smells strong like goats. The bar's windows were covered with a thick layer of dirt so that only a faint amount of daylight could let in, and instead, short, bald candles were lit on the rough wooden tables in the room. At first glance, the floor looked like a compacted dirt floor, but when Harry stepped on, he knew it was actually a stone floor, which looked like it had been built up with thousands of years of dirt.

Harry remembers mentioning the bar in his first year: "I met a lot of interesting guys at Hoghead"

Hagrid once said this, which was used to explain how he won a dragon egg from a stranger who wore a turban. Harry had wondered how Hagrid wasn't surprised that the stranger had been covering his face all the time, and now he found that covering his face seemed to be fashionable in pigs' heads.

There was a man in the bar, his entire head bound in a filthy gray bandage, but he managed to swallow countless cups of smoking, hot stuff from a small slit in his mouth. At a table by the window sat two men with their silhouettes hidden under turbans, and if they hadn't spoken in a thick Yorkshire accent, Harry would have thought they were Dementors. In a shadowy corner by the fireplace sat a witch, wearing a thick, black veil that hung down to her feet. They could only see the tip of her nose as it protruded the veil slightly.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry muttered as they walked through the bar. He paid special attention to the thick-veiled witch: "Do you think that Umbridge could be under that veil?"

Hermione glanced at the veiled witch. "Umbridge is shorter than her," she said calmly. "And anyway, even if Umbridge comes, there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've double-checked the school rules. We didn't foul any of them, and I asked Professor Flitwick if he allowed the students to come to the pig's head, and he said yes, but he strongly advised us to bring our own cups. And I looked up everything I could think of about study societies and study groups, and it was totally allowed. I just don't think we should publicize what we do. ”

"No," Harry said dryly, "especially since it's not strictly a study group, is it?"

The bartender came out of the room and quietly approached them.

He was an old-fashioned-looking man with long gray hair and a beard. He was tall, thin and looked at Harry ambiguously, as if he knew him well.

"What do you want?" he muttered. "Four glasses of Butterbeer, please," Harry said. The man reached under the counter and pulled out four very dirty, dusty bottles, and placed them on the bar with a thud.

"Eight copper nats," he said.

"Thanks," Harry said quickly, giving him the silver coins.

The bartender's gaze glanced at Harry, lingering on his scar for a few seconds. Then he turned and walked away, putting Harry's money into an old wooden cabinet whose drawers would slide open automatically to collect it.

Van Lin and Hermione retreated to a table furthest from the bar and sat down, looking around as they waited for Harry and Ron.

The filthy gray bandaged man tapped his knuckles on the counter and grabbed a smoking drink from the bartender.

But what cares about Van Lin the most is the bartender at the pig's head bar.

It wasn't the first time he had been to the Pig's Head Bar, but the last time he came, he didn't see the owner of the bar......

As if sensing that someone was observing, the bartender glanced up at Van Lin slightly, then squeezed out an ugly smile and moved away.