nownovels Chapter 253 The Plan and Dobby
Chapter 253 The Plan and Dobby
Chapter 253 The Plan and Dobby (5.6K) (1/2)
He shifted his tone, his voice still calm, yet revealing the essence of the problem with remarkable clarity: "But the real key is that your standard for judging whether a biscuit is 'crispy' or not is based on yourself—on Hagrid, a man of enormous size and strength far beyond that of an ordinary person. You can't truly grasp that for Harry, and even for most Hogwarts students and professors, this 'improved' rock biscuit is still hard enough to challenge the limits of their teeth."
Lynch's gaze swept over the tall, heavy furniture in the room again, finally settling on Hagrid's somewhat bewildered and helpless face.
"The furniture in this room, this rock-skinned bread—there's nothing wrong with them. They suit you perfectly, Hagrid. They're part of you, your comfort zone." His voice grew calmer, carrying an undeniable power. "Just like you love and think of the hippogriff as nothing more than cute little creatures." With your size and physique, a single wing flap of its wings would likely be more like a game to you, causing at most a slight sting, but almost certainly no real harm. You're used to interacting with creatures of this level of power.
His gaze shifted to Harry, his expression turning unusually serious, each word clearly audible to both of them: "But Harry, what would happen if the same wing flap landed on you, or any third-year student of your size?"
Harry unconsciously touched his arm, imagining Buckbeak's huge wings flapping in the wind, and his face turned slightly pale.
"At best—a broken bone," he said hoarsely, "if—if I'm hit on the head or in a vital spot—"
Lynch picked up where he left off, his voice low and clear: "—That would most likely mean instant death."
The word "death" struck the brief silence in the small house like a cold stone.
Hagrid's massive body trembled violently, the color draining from his face instantly. He opened his mouth wide, but no sound came out. He just stared at Harry with terrified eyes, as if for the first time truly realizing the life-threatening horror that had lurked in yesterday's class.
Lynch gazed at Hagrid, his tone somber: "Teaching, especially in a course like magical creature conservation, which involves practical risks, requires professors to possess the ability to set aside their own standards and adopt the students' standards. What you need to anticipate isn't 'what I would do,' but rather what a student like the arrogant Malfoy, the nervous Neville, or the brave but physically average Harry might encounter when facing this creature and this situation."
"You need to set up the necessary, tangible safety barriers, clear boundaries, and immediately effective emergency measures for your students, just as you would prepare a suitable chair for a guest. This is not about stifling your teaching enthusiasm, but about the most fundamental respect for your teaching responsibilities and being responsible for the young souls who entrust their lives to you."
He paused slightly, giving Hagrid a moment to think, before continuing in a calm, unwavering tone: "So, Hagrid, I will help you deal with the Malfoys's harassment this time and make sure you don't get fired."
A glimmer of hope instantly appeared on Hagrid's ashen face, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"However," Lynch's tone suddenly became more serious, his gaze fixed intently on Hagrid, "there is a prerequisite—you must thoroughly understand the difference between the world you see and the world your students see, and truly correct your lack of awareness and control of danger in the classroom, which stems from your own limited perspective."
His voice turned cold, carrying a seriousness that sent chills down Harry and Hagrid's spines: "Because I absolutely do not want to one day receive the devastating news that a student has died in your Magical Creatures Protection class. If such an irreversible consequence were to occur, I would rather you be denounced by Malfoy and lose your professorship right now than see a young life perish!"
These words were like a bucket of ice water, dousing Hagrid's newly risen hope and sending a shiver down his spine as immense fear gripped him.
"He'll change! Uncle Lynch!" Harry couldn't hold back any longer. He stepped forward urgently, shielding Hagrid as if to protect him from the harsh judgment. His emerald eyes were filled with pleading and indignation. "You can't just give up on him like this! Hagrid will understand! He learns quickly! I promise!"
Lynch's gaze shifted to the agitated Harry, his eyes deep and unreadable: "Learning quickly? Well, I hope he learns quickly enough, ideally before Lucius Malfoy formally files a complaint with the Board of Governors or the Ministry of Magic, so that I can see enough changes to make a decision to help him."
"I'll help him!" Harry assured him. "Before the punishment is announced, I'll make sure Hagrid is prepared to be the best and safest professor! He won't let you down, and he won't let any student get hurt!"
Hagrid let out a sob behind Harry, a mixture of gratitude and a whimper. His large hand pressed on Harry's shoulder, trembling slightly. Lynch gave Harry a deep look, then glanced at the distraught Hagrid, and didn't press further. He said no more, leaving only the final words: "Remember what I said, Hagrid. Think it over."
Then he turned and walked towards the door.
He walked to the door, grasped the doorknob, but then stopped, turned his head, and looked at Harry, who was comforting Hagrid.
"Harry," his voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority, "we should go. Let's give Hagrid some space."
Harry looked at Hagrid's distraught figure, almost curled up in the huge chair, and felt a pang of pity and worry.
He opened his mouth, wanting to ask Lynch to allow him to stay with Hagrid a little longer, even if it was just for a moment of comfort.
But when he met Lynch's calm eyes, he swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue.
He understood that staying any longer might not be beneficial; Hagrid needed some time alone, and he needed to figure out what Uncle Lynch had just said.
"Yes, Uncle Lynch," Harry replied softly, a hint of hesitation in his voice. He then followed Lynch, gently closing the door to the hut and leaving Hagrid, lost in thought and pain, alone inside.
The two walked silently a distance away, out of Hagrid's sight.
The afternoon breeze swept across the field, carrying the scent of fresh grass.
Lin Qi then slowed his pace and asked, but the topic shifted: "Did Professor Lupin agree to teach you the Patronus Charm?"
Harry, still reeling from the somber atmosphere, paused for a moment before replying, "Yes, he agreed. He said he'd find time to start teaching me."
"Very good." Lin Qi looked straight ahead, his voice steady. "If you want to learn this spell, then you need to study it well and do your best to master it. Don't let Professor Lupin down."
Harry, recalling his experience on the Express and the shadows hanging over the Forbidden Forest last night, nodded solemnly: "I will."
Lynch nodded slightly, then seemed to think of something, slowed his pace slightly, and looked thoughtfully at Harry.
"Learning the Patronus Charm requires focus and a lot of practice, which will inevitably take up a lot of your free time." He paused for a moment. "And helping Hagrid adapt to the role of the professor and correct his ingrained habits is also something that requires a lot of effort and time."
Harry immediately understood Lynch's implication; he did feel the pressure, but to help Hagrid, he eagerly assured him, "I can manage! I promise I will—"
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Lynch gently raised his hand, stopping Harry's eager words: "I believe in your determination, Harry. But a person's energy is ultimately limited. Moreover, helping Hagrid recognize the problem and improve it is a complex task in itself. He needs more than just companionship and encouragement; he needs clear planning, meticulous observation, and rational judgment."
His gaze deepened, as if he had already sketched a solution in his mind: "This isn't something you can do alone, or with enthusiasm alone." He looked at Harry. "So, seek help from your friends. Like Ron Weasley, and," he emphasized, "Miss Granger."
"Hermione?" Harry immediately understood Lynch's intention.
“Yes,” Lynch affirmed. “Bring her in. Tell her everything you’ve heard and seen here today, especially the parts about the benchmark, about cognitive differences, and about safety. From what I’ve observed, she’s the best at logical thinking and planning among you. Ask her to set a clear, actionable standard for Hagrid’s improvement.”
He made the final arrangements: "When, in Miss Granger's judgment, Hagrid truly understands the core of classroom safety and is able to design a curriculum that meets standards and is sufficient to ensure student safety, then you can inform me. At that time, I will personally verify it. In the meantime, you can focus your main efforts on learning the Patronus Charm from Professor Lupin; that is your more pressing task at the moment."
"I understand, Uncle Lynch." Harry nodded seriously, a sudden realization dawning on him.
After parting ways with Harry in the foyer, Lynch went up the spiral staircase back to his office on the second floor of the castle.
The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows, casting bright spots of light on the stone floor and illuminating the entire office, a stark contrast to the dark and oppressive atmosphere of Hagrid's cabin just moments before.
Lynch walked to the window and gazed at the silhouette of Hagrid's cabin in the distance. The harsh words he had just spoken to Hagrid were not empty threats.
It was precisely because he saw the kindness and potential in Hagrid's nature that he had to awaken him with the cruelest possibilities.
A brief period of pain is better than an irreversible tragedy in the future. Now that the seed has been planted, it's up to Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid to bear the consequences.
He left the window, walked to the desk, took off his suit jacket, and casually draped it over the back of the chair.
The parchment that had recorded Dobby's daily activities was still quietly tucked between the lesson plans on the desk.
Lin Qi pulled out the parchment, his slender fingers gently tracing the ink stains on it, his gaze deep, as if he were weighing something.
A moment later, he put down the parchment and turned to reveal a locked drawer under the desk.
With a light touch of the fingertip, the lock slides open silently.
He took a notebook out of it.
The cover of this book is a deep emerald green, made of some kind of soft and delicate leather, with slight wear on the edges, indicating that it has been frequently read.
This notebook was found by Lynch among the pile of manuscripts left behind by Gilderoy Lockhart, and it is one of the few items with practical value.
In fact, in Lynch's mind, the value of this notebook is perhaps second only to Lockhart's "celebrity effect," which has been thoroughly exploited and continues to contribute gallons to the Stone Tower's business empire.
While the revenue generated by those colorful autographed photos and flashy adventure story collections may be considerable, they are ultimately consumables.
But this notebook in my hand contains a different kind of power.
He opened the notebook, which contained Lockhart's fancy yet still clear handwriting.
But what is recorded here is not his fabricated adventures, but his private, in-depth, even outstanding, research on the Forgetting Curse and other memory magic.
—Memory is not simply the storage of images; it is more like a river woven from countless nodes and threads. Ordinary forgetting spells are like boulders thrown into water, creating only chaotic ripples, leaving obvious traces that are easily traced by experts. A more skillful approach, however, is like subtly channeling and diverting a river, erasing specific fragments while allowing the logic of the upstream and downstream to connect naturally, leaving no trace.—
—Emotions are the anchors of memory; strong emotions can firmly fix memories like nails. To completely loosen or remove them, the associated emotional tone must first be addressed, but this is extremely delicate, and the slightest carelessness can cause permanent emotional damage or personality changes.—
Lin Qi turned the pages one by one, his eyes focused.
The more deeply he studied these arguments, which were tinged with a touch of narcissistic boasting—a habit Lockhart clearly couldn't completely shake off—yet at their core were incredibly sharp and ingenious, the more he developed a thought that even he found somewhat absurd, yet couldn't easily deny: Gilderoy Lockhart, this ignorant, fame-seeking fraudster, in the extremely niche and dangerous field of memory magic, his theoretical attainments and practical ideas were probably his true hidden talent, a talent that, if misused, could disrupt the entire magical world's order.
He may truly be the first person in the world to have the deepest understanding of memory magic.
Unfortunately, he used this extraordinary talent in the most despicable way, which ultimately backfired on him.
Lynch lifted his gaze from the notebook and returned it to the parchment that recorded Dobby's patterns of behavior.
A vague plan began to take shape in his mind.
Now, he needs to find the right time.
On a Saturday afternoon, sunlight filtered through the meticulously manicured canopy of the trees at Malfoy Estate, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The air was filled with the scent of trimmed grass and damp earth.
Dobby's small figure stood on a tall ladder, struggling to maintain his balance with his huge, scarred ears, carefully trimming a holly tree into a beautiful shape with a pair of large shears almost as tall as himself.
His pruning movements were very skilled, yet trembled slightly.
"Snapped!"
The crisp crack of the whip still seemed to echo in his ears, accompanied by the cold, shrill voice of his mistress, Narcissa Malfoy: "You filthy little beast! Look at the Persian vase you broke! That was an ancient treasure of the Black family! We couldn't pay for it even if we sold you ten times over!"
This morning, simply because he was startled by a mouse that suddenly darted out from the corner while wiping the display case and accidentally knocked over a vase, he suffered a agonizing punishment—though not a true unforgivable curse, the mistress's magical lash was just as painful.
At this moment, several burning marks remained on his skin beneath his robe. Every time he raised his arm to pull the scissors, it would aggravate the wounds on his back, causing him to involuntarily flinch.
Dobby mechanically trimmed the holly branches, muttering to himself in hushed tones as he cut the shears: "Bad Dobby! Clumsy Dobby! Broke the mistress's precious vase... Dobby deserves punishment..."
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His large, tennis ball-sized eyes were brimming with tears, but he stubbornly held them back, refusing to let them fall.
Every tear that was about to fall trembled in his eyes, as if it would burst at any moment—and he knew that crying would only bring more severe scolding.
The garden shears moved incessantly in his hands, the pruning becoming faster and more forceful, as if he were punishing himself through this mechanical labor to offset his inner fear and pain.
Just then, a calm, steady voice rang out from below the ladder without warning, breaking the afternoon's tranquility: "Exquisite pruning technique."
Dobby froze in fright, nearly dropping the huge scissors from his hands.
He turned around abruptly, his heart pounding in his thin chest.
A tall man dressed in a Muggle-style, yet impeccably tailored dark suit stood quietly under the tree, looking up at him.
The man's black hair was neatly combed, his face was cold and stern, and his deep eyes held a knowing look that seemed to have been observing him for a long time.
Dobby had never seen this visitor at the manor before!
Who is he?
How did they manage to slip through the layers of magical protection surrounding Malfoy Manor and arrive here in the inner courtyard so quietly?!
Fear gripped him instantly.
"Sir—!" Dobby stammered, frantically trying to climb down the ladder to bow, but slipped and fell backward. "Damn it, Dobby! You've disturbed our distinguished guest!"
However, the expected pain of falling onto the hard ground did not come. A gentle yet irresistible force supported him, allowing him to land lightly and steadily on the grass without even stirring up a speck of dust.
Dobby, still shaken, steadied himself, his huge eyes filled with fear and confusion as he looked at the mysterious man before him.
Clutching the enormous scissors, he trembled and stammered, trying to apologize and inquire about the other man's identity: "Honorable sir, Dobby—Dobby didn't mean it—are you a guest of the master? Dobby will go and inform him immediately—"
The man's deep gaze fell on Dobby, seemingly seeing through his confusion. A faint smile curved his lips as he calmly reminded him, "It seems that what happened at the Quidditch pitch last year didn't make you remember me for long, little elf."
"Quidditch pitch?" Dobby repeated blankly, blinking his huge eyes.
The next moment, as if struck by lightning, certain memories suppressed by fear and daily toil suddenly awakened—the out-of-control ball under the Hogwarts stands, and the powerful wizard who commanded another strange house-elf, captured him, and then let him go!
It's that man! The man who promised to protect Harry Potter!
A tremendous fear, even deeper than when facing Malfoy's master, overwhelmed Dobby in an instant.
He screamed, dropped the magic scissors, hugged his enormous head with both hands, and crouched down, trembling.
"It's you! Mighty sir!" His voice was choked with sobs and utter terror. "Dobby remembers! Dobby hasn't forgotten!"
Dobby never forgot your warning! Mr. Potter—is Mr. Potter alright? Dobby didn't bother him again! Dobby swears! He stammered his assurance, his huge eyes filled with desperate pleading, as if afraid Lynch had come to punish him for past offenses or to bring some bad news about Harry Potter.
Lynch looked down at the terrified house-elf, his face expressionless, and simply spoke calmly, his voice still steady: "Don't panic, Dobby. I'm just passing by, and by the way—I'd like to make a deal with you."
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