A magical journey that begins in Azkaban

"Eat...eat..." Grawp mumbled incoherently, his nostrils flapping back and forth, searching for the source of the fragrance in the air.

Hermione couldn't help but take a breath, her voice full of worry: "Oh my God, Grawp won't..."

"Wait a minute." Roger hurriedly grabbed her, "Hagrid is not as delicious as roast chicken."

Sure enough, Grawp's target was not Hagrid. He opened the entire igloo and grabbed the remaining half of Ariana's roast chicken.

Compared to his palm, the food mixed with snow was like a small piece of meat. Even with the chicken bones scattered around, it might not even be enough to fill the gap between teeth.

Grawp opened his cave-like mouth and swallowed the roast chicken in one bite. However, this seemed to be just an appetizer.

He lay on the ground and searched carefully like a hound. Finally, he found the honey jar and the oily fruit wood charcoal.

In the surprised eyes of everyone, he did not hesitate to put all these things into his mouth, making a creepy chewing sound.

"Hungry..." Grawp let go of Hagrid who had been struggling, and pointed at his mouth like a giant baby. There was a trace of grievance in his eyes, as if he was accusing his brother of not feeding him enough.

Hagrid rubbed his dislocated arm and smiled helplessly. He said something to Grawp in Giant language, as if he was comforting a mad child. Then, he pulled up the rope on his brother and led him deep into the Forbidden Forest.

"You'd better not have any dangerous thoughts." Roger turned to Hermione and whispered, "Curiosity kills the cat."

"You... don't talk nonsense." Hermione's face flushed instantly. She jumped up like a cat whose tail was stepped on, and argued loudly: "Don't slander others' innocence out of thin air. I don't have any dangerous thoughts."

"Hehe." Roger rolled his eyes at her and directly exposed her little thoughts: "Don't pretend, Hermione. Do you want to use food to get close to Grawp? Or even have a giant friend?"

Hermione was shocked and secretly sighed how he guessed, "Could it be that Roger can read minds?"

However, she still pretended to be calm and firmly denied Roger's guess: "I don't! I'm not! Don't talk nonsense!"

Roger shook his head slightly. Such a direct and eager denial can only mean one thing: Hermione did have this idea and wanted to use food to get close to Grawp.

"If you really want to go to the Forbidden Forest, you must go with Hagrid. Because he will definitely not be able to run faster than you, Ariana, what do you think?"

"Yeah." Ariana smiled and gave him a reassuring look.

The magical bond between them determined that the two of them had to act together. Sometimes asking Ariana to help is more effective than reminding Hermione directly.

Hermione puffed her cheeks, her face full of annoyance of being exposed. She pulled Ariana's sleeve all the way and kept whispering: "Alia, you have to help me. Don't listen to Roger, we are best friends, right?"

Ariana just smiled and nodded, neither agreeing nor refusing. If Hermione really wants to go to the Forbidden Forest to play with giants, she will go with them.

In front of the hall, the night is getting darker. The windows of the castle are shining with warm yellow light, and the students who went to Hogsmeade for a walk have returned one after another.

Hermione suddenly stopped and turned to ask: "Rogge, will you go home for Christmas?"

Rogge was stunned for a moment, his eyes drifting away, as if thinking about something. He answered uncertainly: "There are a lot of things to do, but I don't think I will stay in school."

"Rest early, the OWLs exam is next year anyway." He showed a gentle smile, handed the other two roast chickens to them, and teased: "Don't forget my Christmas present."

"Got it~" Hermione took the paper bag, and a blush appeared on her face. She suddenly leaned in and kissed Roger on the face, and her movements were so fast that people were caught off guard.

Ariana followed her to Gryffindor and couldn't help but joked: "Oh, didn't you agree to be reserved? You are really proactive today."

"This is because he compensated us for the roast chicken." Hermione's ears blushed.

"Well, anyway, whatever you say is reasonable..."

After returning to the Slytherin tower, Roger and Daphne shared the last fruit wood roast chicken. After half a night of tenderness, he climbed up from the gentle land again.

"What's wrong?" Daphne lay tiredly on the bed, her long golden hair floating on her snow-white shoulders. Her breasts were half exposed, a little deformed by the pressure of her body.

Rogge wrapped himself in his nightgown and said gently, "I'll read for a while. I'm going to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

He took the hot tea brought by Daphne, and his eyes lingered on her naked body involuntarily, "Don't go back to the dormitory so late, or my quilt will get cold soon."

"Go to hell." Daphne rolled her eyes at him coquettishly, yawned and slowly wrapped herself in the quilt. She smiled lazily, and her eyes gradually became blurred.

Rogge was reading a book called "Cryptozoology". The author Branson was a maverick wizard. After graduation, he did not stay in the magic world, but pretended to be a Muggle to travel around the world for adventure.

In an adventure at the beginning of the century, he left a record of the White River Monster.

Rogge's fingers gently stroked a yellowed silver magic photo on the page. In the photo, a mottled protrusion is vaguely visible. As it sways slightly, ripples appear on the surface of the lake, as if there is a mysterious existence underneath.

"It looks like some kind of sturgeon." Roger muttered to himself, picked up a quill and sketched the general outline of the river monster on a piece of parchment. However, there was too little information in the photo to complete the creature.

He continued to read Branson's record: "Whitey can make a mixed sound of cows and horses and can crawl onto land."

The book was accompanied by a diagram of the three-toed footprints left by the river monster on the mud after rain, which made Roger more and more interested.

"13.5 inches..." He stared at the size of the footprint recorded in the book and frowned slightly: "So big? Could Branson remember it wrong?"

He began to convert in his mind. If the footprint of this river monster is close to 35 cm, the foot is almost as long as an elephant.

"Wow, this is definitely a big guy that should not be underestimated." Roger thought.

In order to better understand the size of the river monster, Roger decided to use a more familiar creature as a reference. "The common alligator in America can be used to estimate..."

He quickly flipped through other reference books, found the corresponding proportional relationship, and then began to calculate.

After some calculations, Roger quickly came to the conclusion that the creature with such footprints may be between 2.7 meters and 3.4 meters long and weigh about 1 ton.

"But the footprints of alligators are usually less than 10 centimeters." Roger muttered to himself and began to examine the footprints in the book again: "If it is true, it means that the owner of the footprints is much larger than the alligator."

He quickly flipped through more information about large reptiles, "Saltwater crocodiles are good. Adult males are more than 7 meters long and weigh more than one ton. However, their feet are not as long as river monsters."

Roger took a breath of cold air, and a giant beast that was amphibious, probably more than 10 meters long and weighed nearly 3 tons appeared in front of him.

"River monster?" Roger murmured, with a hint of doubt in his eyes.

He picked up a magnifying glass and carefully examined every detail in the photo. The footprints taken by Branson were indeed very clear, and even the claw marks on the toes could be seen.

But it was too clear!

Suddenly, an idea came into Roger's mind: "Wait, how come it looks more and more like a duck's foot?"

"Same three-pronged shape, each fork is also a concave fan-shaped. And the footprints left by a river monster weighing several tons are too clear and too shallow, right?"

Although he was full of doubts, Roger decided to continue reading the following information. What if the White River monster mastered light skills or magic, so it could be very heavy and walk lightly.

Branson not only recorded his own experiences, but also collected rumors from the surrounding Muggle farmers.

The White River monster originated from the local indigenous people, the Kua Pa tribe. The river monster once overturned the indigenous canoe, but the young man in the canoe returned to the shore. (The naughty river monster-Rog couldn't help but write his own complaints in the book: and it was also very kind.)

The loggers thought it was a 300-pound (about 136KG) turtle, but the fishermen returned empty-handed. (Natural eye weighing device, more powerful than the goblins in Gringotts)

The river monster always surfaces in the evening and stays for about 5 to 15 minutes. (No fishermen at this time??? Isn't it the prime time to catch it?)

The farmer reported: From a distance, it is 12 feet long and 5 feet wide, with a catfish face and gray elephant skin. (The fisherman was ecstatic. This catfish was the same size as the one that ran away last time...or maybe it was bigger.)

Rog put down his quill and thought: "Do these records refer to the same creature? Or is this just an elaborate prank?"

Branson's record of the river monster ended here. He left the White River and continued his journey westward.

Rog closed the book and rubbed his sore eyes. To be honest, the doubts in his heart were like bubbles in a beer glass, full and almost overflowing.

As a wizard, Branson encountered such a strange river monster, but he didn't cast any magic to find out. He didn't even have the urge to explore it in the water, and just left. This behavior is really puzzling.

Unless, he knew the truth about the river monster early on. Just for fun, he wrote it in the book.

Roger couldn't help but think of the disgraced Gilderoy Lockhart. "At least in Lockhart's story, everything is true except the name of the protagonist." He praised sincerely.

As for Branson's "Cryptozoology"... Roger flipped through the thick pages, and it could be hollowed out to hold wine. And the nearly one thousand mysterious animals he recorded are still just records, and have not been confirmed by any wizard or Muggle.

"This is fake." Roger closed the book and was very sure, "Its value lies in entertainment and imagination. Perhaps it should appear in "Unsolved Mysteries of the World" instead of being a serious reading."

His eyes turned to Tiago's wand manuscript, and he couldn't help but doubt the use of the spine of the White River Monster to make a wand. After all, for a fictitious thing, even if Merlin came, he couldn't find it.

"What is it? Unless we find the wand that Tiago made, or go back to his time." He snorted softly, "If Grindelwald didn't take the time converter away, I wouldn't have to worry so much."

Feeling disappointed and tired, Roger yawned, stood up and turned off the desk lamp.

There was a commotion in the clock square outside the tower. He looked down curiously and saw the Weasleys hurried out of the main building. Harry was among them, as if something urgent had happened.

They followed Professor McGonagall through the corridor and walked quickly to the Transfiguration classroom.

"Is there still something wrong?" Roger looked up and looked at the bright window of the headmaster's office. "Dumbledore is back. It seems that the Ministry of Magic has dealt with the matter."

He nodded thoughtfully: "That's right, old Barty has been tried, and the headmaster's position as Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot has been dismissed."

"Dumbledore has nowhere else to go except Hogwarts. However, Harry still hasn't mastered the brain block technique? Even if the teacher is changed, it won't work?" Roger shook his head slightly, not knowing whether to evaluate Harry as too sincere or too superficial.

He simply stopped thinking about what happened to Weasley tonight, and didn't care about what actions Voldemort would take. As long as his plan goes smoothly, let the rest take its course.

Rog closed the curtains and got into the warm bed.

"Hmm~" Daphne turned over in her sleep, and her right leg habitually rested on him. Roger sniffed the ylang-ylang fragrance in her hair and embraced her warmth.

The school does not have the annoying Umbridge, and the Department of Transport controls the Floo Network externally but not internally. This means that Harry and the Weasleys can still use Professor McGonagall's fireplace to go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magic and Wizardry without using the portkey.

This magic hospital is hidden inside Tao Tao Limited, an old-fashioned red brick department store. A sign saying "Closed for renovation" hangs on the door, and this status will probably not change in another hundred years.

Generally speaking, visitors who visit patients need to stand outside the closet and tell the patient's name to the female dummy inside. Then the dummy will nod and point their finger at them to go through the glass.

But Roger has never walked through this entrance. He is only familiar with the VIP channel and has not even visited the brick-red exterior of the hospital.

He also has a special care ward on the upper floor. Even if the downstairs is overcrowded, it is still empty and ready for Roger Travis at any time.

The Weasley family obviously does not enjoy such privileges. Even though Molly brought the famous Harry Potter with her, and Sirius, Tonks, and Moody to escort her, the doctors still turned a blind eye to them.

This was not because they despised or looked down on them, but because they were too busy.

The scene in the waiting room was jaw-dropping, just like a fish market... perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as a zoo.

Some wizards had elephant trunks, some had an extra hand on their chests, and some had their heads and butts swapped positions... You never know what kind of weird injuries wizards will cause themselves.

"Excuse me..." Molly called out anxiously, but the therapists just rushed past and rushed to the next patient.

Her anxiety and helplessness seemed particularly harmonious in this busy environment. After all, this is a hospital, and there is no shortage of anxiety and helplessness. Even among the Muggles, powerlessness and crying are endless.

After seeing and hearing so much, sympathy and kindness have become numb. The therapists must rush to the next patient and snatch more lives from the hands of death.