"...What, Hagrid is the heir of the Secret Chamber?"
"Shh, keep your voice down!"
Harry instinctively raised his hand to cover the girl’s open mouth. He looked around, and after making sure no one noticed them, the boy finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"This, this can’t be right, can it?"
Realizing the same anomaly, Hermione quickly lowered her voice, her brown eyes staring at Harry. "If Hagrid is really the heir, he should have been caught long ago—yes, his magic wand was indeed broken, which might mean that he really..."
"No, actually, I don’t think Hagrid is the heir..."
Harry shook his head.
"..."
Hermione looked speechless. Just ten seconds ago, you were swearing that Hagrid was the heir, and now you suddenly change your tune... She raised a hand to touch Harry’s forehead. Hmm, no fever.
"What I mean is, I don’t believe that Tom Riddle." Harry instinctively glanced behind him. His backpack was lying on the sofa next to the fireplace. "What I’ve been telling you is all that Riddle wants me to see, but..." The boy paused, "I don’t trust him."
"...Why?"
"It’s a kind of intuition, I seem to feel his emotions—when he’s communicating with me, he seems to always be hating something?"
"So, what are you planning to do?"
Hermione sighed. She found herself having trouble following Harry’s train of thought, so she chose to refocus on her paper, the preparation and precautions of Swelling Potion...
"I’m planning to ask Hagrid."
"Just go directly?"
"Of course, right now, I think he’s in a good mood lately."
...
Just as Harry said, when the two of them appeared in front of Hagrid’s Hut, the Half-Blood Giant greeted them with a laugh.
"Hey, you two haven’t visited me for a while." He made room for the two little wizards, and Hagrid excitedly sat by the stove and placed the kettle on the table in the middle. "Come and try my tea, it’s the tea leaves William gave me for Christmas—"
"Hagrid," hearing this name, Harry’s mind moved slightly—so he decided to keep asking directly, "Hagrid, do you know about the Secret Chamber?"
"Of course I know, the secret... why are you still asking about this?" Hagrid wanted to answer casually, but the next moment, he seemed to remember something. His expression turned somewhat gloomy, and the originally happy atmosphere in the room stiffened with Harry’s direct question.
"...Uh, because we have some new clues."
Harry awkwardly scratched his head and exchanged a glance with Hermione.
Although this direct approach seemed to have backfired, just mentioning it had such a big reaction from Hagrid... they might really be onto something.
"But... but Dumbledore said things have already been resolved, just wait until the summer holidays—" Hagrid mumbled, unconsciously tapping the table with his fingers, the "thump thump" sound a bit dull.
"But, Hagrid, I heard—that the Secret Chamber was opened once fifty years ago." It was Hermione’s turn to speak now.
"Oh, sure, the secret chamber, monster, all suspecting me, only Dumbledore was willing to believe in me, he gave me a place to stay, a job—" Hagrid shouted loudly, his dry brown beard trembling with his shouting, his emotions gradually becoming agitated.
Realizing this, Harry held onto Hermione, who still wanted to dig deeper, and shook his head at her.
"Stop investigating the Secret Chamber, give it up, Harry, that place is surely closed now, I know." Hagrid continued to speak loudly, looking at the two who were nodding in agreement, his mood finally seemed to slightly improve, so he turned around, starting to take out the rock cakes he had prepared from the oven.
"Woof—"
A black shadow darted out from under Hagrid’s massive bed. It sniffed Harry several times and finally contentedly laid its head on the boy’s leg.
"Clang—"
As Fang ran, it knocked a huge metal can to the ground, and a gray, fluffy ball rolled out from the opening.
"This...ah!"
Hermione instinctively screamed as Harry followed her gaze and also instinctively pulled out his magic wand from his pocket, pointing it at the large spider stretching its limbs on the ground.
"Hey, hey, don’t be tense, Harry, Aragog means no harm—"
Hagrid quickly turned around and placed the rock cakes on the table, stopping Harry, who seemed about to cast an evil curse at any moment. He grabbed the spider, about the size of a Quaffle.
"Aragog?" Hermione said, her eyes widening, "Is this your new pet? Last year it was a Three-Headed Dog and a Fire Dragon, now it’s an Acromantula?" The Acromantula’s appearance was quite distinctive, hardly mistakable for other spiders, not to mention this one... was this big.
"How many months old is it? Hagrid, in a few more months, it might, like Norbert, not fit in your house anymore—"
"Months? Haha, Hermione, Aragog is already fifty years old—"
"...It shouldn’t be, an adult Acromantula shouldn’t be this small?"
"That’s all thanks to William... oh, he doesn’t want me to tell others—"
"Wait, Hagrid, this spider—it’s not that monster from fifty years ago, is it?" Harry interrupted their conversation abruptly, staring at the spider in Hagrid’s arms, doubt filling his eyes. Though it was somewhat smaller and even paler in color—Harry recognized it at a glance.
He could be sure this spider was the "monster" he saw in Tom Riddle’s memory last night.
"...How do you know that?" Hagrid’s expression turned dull. He carefully put Aragog back into the metal can and looked at the boy with bewildered eyes.
"I saw it, I saw it in a memory—" Harry felt his scar begin to throb painfully as if pierced by needles, causing him to clutch his head, starting to murmur "So, so he wasn’t lying to me?"
"Harry, wait, if the monster is an Acromantula, then all the more reason that Hagrid couldn’t be the opener of the Secret Chamber." Hermione’s voice interrupted Harry’s train of thought, noticing his odd expression, "Acromantulas can’t petrify people, only a Basilisk can—"
"Is, is that so?"
Harry was silent for a moment, feeling the reprieve in his forehead, he asked in confusion.
"Who? Who is this ’he’ you’re talking about?"
Perhaps realizing something wasn’t right with Harry’s state, Hagrid didn’t explode with anger over being a suspect, but instead asked concernedly.
"Tom Riddle, Harry at Christmas..."
Hermione started to explain, but she, too, didn’t finish.
"Clang—"
The rock cake in Hagrid’s hand fell to the table with a loud sound.