A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

After the Easter holiday, the weather grew clearer by the day. Standing atop the castle, one could see the Forbidden Forest lush with a soothing green. The Black Lake brimmed with life, drawing students to its banks and under the green willows on weekends, basking in the warm sunlight.

Of course, this leisure was reserved for students who had finished their assignments.

"I've had enough! We're just in our fourth year, why do we have so much homework?" Simon complained loudly. "Professor McGonagall couldn't have made a mistake, could she?"

"No, she couldn't," Dean said pessimistically. "In our last class, she even said we should shift the fifth-year career counseling to fourth year, claiming it would motivate us more."

"Oh..." Simon let out a weird cry. "Cut me some slack," he grumbled. "We still have a full three years until graduation."

"Well, actually, the professors are doing it for our own good," Neville said, swallowing a gulp of water. "Don't forget, next year the school plans to implement grade assessments for fifth and seventh years. Fifth years need to master the Animagus transformation, seventh years must grasp the Patronus Charm—"

"What if we don't pass?" Simon asked uneasily.

"Then, naturally, we sacrifice our Christmas holidays, Easter breaks, and the time right after every yearly exam," Dean counted on his fingers. Simon's expression immediately changed, but Dean added, "Also, the professors are considering moving the Disarming Charm and the Shield Charm to other years, but it's not confirmed yet."

Simon sighed in relief; he'd already mastered those two spells. He paused and asked, "Has Harry not organized a dueling practice group in ages?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "they're prepping for the third project. Honestly, they've pulled ahead of us; even Ron has mastered the Patronus Charm."

...

While the sun shone brightly by the Black Lake, the atmosphere in Classroom 7 was starkly different.

The sound of blades cutting through bushes echoed in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Ron cautiously moved forward, occasionally stumbling over twisted tree roots. The sensation of leaves underfoot felt so real that he had forgotten it was all an illusion, his nerves stretched to the limit.

Rustling sounds emerged behind him—Ron sharply turned around. "Obstacles ahead!" he shouted as a spell froze the eight-eyed giant spider that had suddenly appeared. Ron spun around and bolted.

"You should've used the Banishing Charm," the memory of Felix floated in the air, while Ron hid behind a large tree, carefully scanning his surroundings, only to be startled.

"I know," Ron grumbled, "you might as well tell me where Harry and Hermione are."

"Oh, that," Felix's memory pointed in another direction.

Ron looked skeptical. "You're not trying to trick me, are you?"

"I'm a professor," the memory smirked, arms crossed.

"Just a memory," Ron muttered quietly, "alright, I'll trust you one more time."

Ten minutes later.

"Ahhhh—"

Ron stumbled out of the mist, a group of horse-sized eight-eyed spiders chasing him. He kept casting spells to repel the spiders while angrily yelling, "You've fooled me again!"

"I haven't; look ahead," the memory said with a smile.

In the midst of his panic, Ron glanced up and saw a faint light ahead. Hope surged within him, the "clattering" sound behind him seemed less daunting. A surge of energy coursed through him, propelling him to the end of the path. He finally saw Harry—

Harry leaned against a large tree, standing on a protruding black stone, continuously casting spells around him. White flames—the Ring of Bright Flames—formed a circle around Harry, shielding him from the approaching giant spiders.

"Yeah," Ron slapped his head. The next moment, the Bright Flames spell combined with the Ring of Flames on his hand, creating a long flame. He ran behind the flame, yelling, "Harry, I'm here—" Harry looked up, raised his wand in Ron's direction, and cast the Banishing Charm, scattering the eight-eyed giant spiders behind Ron.

Ron scrambled up the black stone.

"You found a good spot," Ron said, calming down and starting to assist Harry with the Banishing Charm.

"The good spot is up there," Harry mumbled.

"Hey, Ron," Hermione's voice appeared above them. Ron looked up to see Hermione sitting on a branch of the tree they were leaning against, grinning mischievously. He suddenly realized—the white flames were controlled by Hermione.

"Why did you climb up a tree? That's not conducive to escape," Ron remarked.

"Oh, my Banishing Charms are pretty good, so I wanted to try a new spell—" Hermione said. She stood high up, scanning the distance with her hand on her forehead. "I seem to have spotted Collins and the rest; they're dealing with a big one. Let's hurry!"

She dispelled the flame magic, deftly releasing bursts of red light from her wand, with Harry and Ron joining in with Stupefy spells. Soon, the giant spiders were sprawled on the ground.

Hermione used a Cushioning Charm to land softly. They moved toward the direction Hermione had pointed out earlier, encountering various magical creatures along the way. "Wow!" Ron exclaimed, freezing a group of Cornish Pixies with an Ice-Freezing Charm. "I'm starting to like this place more and more."

Harry grinned; he couldn't argue with that. If it were just monotonous spell practice, he'd have a hard time enduring it. His fastest progress happened either during Professor Hape's rigorous training or when he was in Classroom 7.

As they proceeded, they came across a leisurely strolling Erumpent, a large beast resembling a rhinoceros with gray, thick skin that repelled conventional spells. Its horn was not only sharp but could inject an explosive liquid. The three quickly hid behind a rock.

"Oh, move away quickly," Ron whispered, watching a small figure beside the Erumpent—a young one, far livelier than the adults, constantly bumping into a stall.

After a few minutes, the Erumpent mother finally left with her young one. They emerged from behind the rock and each picked up a tonic from the unmanned stall.

"I love this setup," Ron said, grabbing two bottles of butterbeer and stuffing them into his pockets.

"It's fake," Hermione reminded him, "it disappears once you leave. Besides, it was initially meant for the ghosts at school, so the kitchen wouldn't have to stock rotting food."

"I know," Ron shrugged, "but you can't ask for more in Classroom 7. I mean, although Professor Flibbertigibbet's memory gives out uniquely flavored jellybeans after dueling, every time you come out, you feel like a fool."

"A baboon who only knows how to swing a stick," Hermione quipped, smiling.

Using a Directional Charm to confirm their direction, they eventually found Cedric's team.

"Need help?" Harry shouted from a distance.

"That would be great," a voice said at their feet, startling them. Harry stared at the gray-green thing before them—it was Roger Davies lying on the ground. "What happened to you?"

"Quite obviously, I've been poisoned by the tail of a Sphinx," Roger Davies lay on the ground, surrounded by a gray-green mist.

They exchanged looks. Then hurried over to help. Cedric and Collins were in a dire situation; the Sphinx's skin could repel almost every known spell. Cedric kept transfiguring chains in an attempt to entangle its legs while avoiding the swishing tail.

Collins released bursts of black mist, combining them with quickness spells and slippery surfaces, trying to restrict the extremely dangerous beast.

Harry cast a powerful Disarming Charm; the bright red light hit the Sphinx, although he didn't know if it worked. He enjoyed using the spell; recently, he'd been attempting to incorporate runes into it, without success. The Sphinx took two steps back, then swung its tail; Harry's spell rebounded, grazing Cedric's hair.

"Great way to say hello," Cedric remarked, Harry grinned and cast a Water-Making Charm in Mermish, water hitting the Manticore like cannonballs. "That's not going to do much—" Cedric started, interrupted as Hermione swiftly followed up with a Freezing Charm, rapidly encasing the Manticore's body in ice.

"Are you okay?" Ron hurried over, supporting the shaky Collins. Collins shook his head, about to say something when his eyes widened.

"Look out!" A glinting tail-hook pierced Ron's chest. Ron blinked incredulously, feeling no pain, yet the hook had indeed pierced through. Harry and Hermione shouted, watching Ron slowly fall...

Two minutes later, Ron sat on the ground, a gray-green mist continually emitting from his chest—much like Roger's earlier appearance. He quipped to Collins, also hooked: "Thanks for keeping me company."

Collins rolled her eyes at him but didn't refuse the butterbeer Ron offered. Together, they watched from a distance as Cedric, Harry, and Hermione continued their battle.

Hermione employed ancient magic, golden flames transforming into a fiery phoenix, swooping down to peck at the Manticore with its sharp beak. The Manticore emitted a distressed hum from its belly, struggling and thrashing its tail-hook underfoot. But with the trio's combined effort—Harry's excellent Mud spell—the Manticore's movements significantly diminished.

The tide seemed to turn in favor of victory until another Sphinx-like Manticore emerged from the depths of the Forbidden Forest, accompanied by a smaller one.

What followed was gruesome. First, Harry was trampled by the rampaging Manticore mother, then Hermione. Within a minute, six individuals sat amidst the gray-green mist, watching the triumphant Manticore family swagger away.

"It's not our fault," Ron consoled them. "That creature was beyond our league. It's rated 5x at the Ministry, far more dangerous than the Acromantula colony."

"Let's hope the Ministry's judges think the same," Roger Davies chimed in. "But, uh, I've heard rumors about these things in the forest depths..."

"Right," Hermione said. "Hagrid bred a Blast-Ended Skrewt with the Sphinx Manticore."

Cedric and Roger Davies didn't look pleased.

"Don't worry, I doubt the Ministry would let us face an uncontrolled Sphinx Manticore," Hermione stated confidently. "It's too dangerous. The books say it only needs a slight sting to take a life, no reaction time. The Ministry must have learned from past tournaments, like the one in 1792..."

"Is she always like this?" Collins whispered to Ron.

"Oh, um..." Ron shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Sounds pretty reasonable, doesn't it?"

Except for Hermione, no one shared that sentiment, despite the historical accuracy in what she said. They took a brief break, dispersing as the mist lifted. Cedric planned to consult Professor McGonagall about Transfiguration issues, while Collins preferred discussing spell coordination with Professor Flitwick.

Harry and company stayed in Classroom Seven until dusk, only interrupted by a procession of ghosts.

"Hello, Nearly Headless Nick," Harry greeted the Gryffindor ghost. "Is it time for dinner?"

The ghost paused. "Yes, you'd better hurry, or there won't be any food left." He glanced at the tail end of the ghostly queue. "I need to hurry too."

"We should get going," Ron immediately said, taking the lead. However, Nearly Headless Nick suddenly grabbed him—or more accurately, passed through his arm—causing Ron to stiffen.

"Oh, sorry, we should hide for a bit until she passes..." Nearly Headless Nick said.

"Until who—" Ron attempted to ask, but Harry and Hermione grabbed him, concealing themselves in the mist. Two seconds later, a squat, plump ghost passed by, wearing thick, pearly glasses. Harry surmised they were to conceal acne—when she was alive.

"It's Moaning Myrtle!"

"Shh—" Nearly Headless Nick nervously gestured with translucent fingers on his lips. From Harry's perspective, both Nick and Moaning Myrtle, at a distance, appeared suspicious.

Moaning Myrtle was a pitiable ghost. Despite their brief encounters being less than pleasant, Harry still felt sorry for her.

More evil done by Voldemort... His eyes stared at Moaning Myrtle's receding figure, pondering how this was Voldemort's first murder, albeit through the eyes of a serpent.

Harry's expression darkened. Throughout May, he tried not to dwell on whether Voldemort was alive or dead, focusing on preparing for the third task. But when alone, he couldn't help revisiting intelligence about Voldemort. He inadvertently glimpsed Hermione's notes, mentioning Voldemort's childhood—he didn't know where she got the information, nor did he want to ask. Perhaps Professor Snape?

If Hermione knew he was interested in these matters, she'd surely advise him not to dwell.

But Harry couldn't forget the records in the notes: outstanding magical ability before Hogwarts; feared by peers; reclusive and aloof; and... in a certain day in 1937, meeting a young Dumbledore and being allowed to attend Hogwarts.

Why didn't Dumbledore see through Voldemort's facade then? Harry thought angrily. Let him stay in the orphanage, maybe none of this would've happened. Wool's Orphanage, was it called that? Harry strained to remember; thanks to Uncle Vernon's threats of sending him to an orphanage in Surrey, he was familiar with the name.

But then he thought, Voldemort probably didn't live in Surrey, and a sense of disappointment washed over him.

Suddenly, he felt like he had fallen into an ice pit—Nick had hurriedly reached out to grab him again. He quickly stepped back, distancing himself from the ghost's outstretched arm. "What's wrong?"

"You nearly got caught," Nearly Headless Nick said apologetically, as they hid in the mist. "Listen, the appearance of Classroom Seven is a godsend for all the ghosts; we can savor the taste of food again, though not as good as when alive, limited taste... but... it's something..."

"How does that relate to Moaning Myrtle?" Ron asked puzzled, quickly peering out from the fog. "She's gone."

"As a ghost, you see, she doesn't join collective activities... too introverted, haunted by her own death..." Nearly Headless Nick said. "We had a meeting, Friar suggested avoiding her a bit when heading to Classroom Seven, to prevent her from feeling too down and not coming anymore."

"You guys are considerate," Ron said with uncertain attitude.

"Thank you," Nearly Headless Nick happily replied, bidding them farewell.

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione left, they continued discussing the matter.

"They did the right thing. I mean, Classroom Seven belongs to Hogwarts, and all ghosts have the right to use it, right?" Hermione asked.

"We just had some disagreement about Moaning Myrtle's personality," Ron said. "Introverted? She's pretty bold in some ways..." He looked at Harry, who immediately understood his implication.

Rumor had it, Moaning Myrtle's hobby included sneaking into the Prefects' Bathroom to watch the male Prefects bathe. Ron had enthusiastically questioned Ced

ric and Roger Davies about it—yeah, it was true.

Exiting Classroom Seven, they reached the Great Hall, catching the tail end of mealtime. Roger Davies waved at them from the Hufflepuff table, and Ron suddenly chuckled, "Ah—thinking about Moaning Myrtle peeping—" Harry grinned too, feeling much better.

Beside them, Hermione looked at them quizzically. At that moment, a group of owl messengers swooped in, a brown one dropping a copy of the Sunday Prophet in front of Hermione. She flipped it open, scanning quickly.

"Any news?" Harry inquired.

"Oh, let me see..." Hermione said, still looking down. "I actually wanted to see something about 'Future World,' but considering the recent bad news, no news might be best... ah, here! Rita Skeeter's new book is out, a biography of Regulus," she looked up at Harry, "I should get one, see what it says."

"When did you start paying attention to her?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"Oh, well, let's put it this way," Hermione smiled brightly, "I've found she's done some research, maybe one-tenth truth?" she said uncertainly, "Your job is to sift out the useful bits."

Harry had to admit there was some truth in that, especially after 'Future World' underwent sudden scrutiny by the Ministry, citing "misuse of Muggle items" and "illegally modifying Muggle objects," alongside "tendencies to expose the wizarding world."

They were frantic, repeatedly sending letters to Ron's father, Percy, Remus, and Sirius to inquire. But in a few days, the issue vanished, instead, Fudge was exposed for taking large bribes, involving several pure-blood families.

During that time, newspapers were filled with articles where Fudge clarified "false news" and new evidence exposing him. Eventually, news about the 'Future World' company dwindled.

All of this somehow circled back to one name—Rita Skeeter.

>

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