A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 389: A Rather Interesting Situation

Emerging from Classroom 7, standing in the corridor, one could glimpse the bright moonlight outside the window, casting a silvery glow on the sparse shrubbery in the courtyard.

"No need to see me off," Newt turned around and said, "I occasionally come here to replace manuscripts over the years, and I haven't forgotten the way."

Sniffing, Bowtruckle perched on Felix's shoulder and waved along with everyone.

At a fork in the path, Hogwarts' champions watched Newt's figure, feeling a touch of envy.

"Do you ever imagine being like Mr. Scamander, working in the field of magical creature protection after graduation?" Felix smiled as he looked at them, asking with a confident tone, "Or perhaps, at some moment, you wish to become a naturalist?"

"Professor, how did you know?" Cedric asked, surprised. He had indeed felt an impulse just now, to follow in the old man's footsteps and travel to every corner of the world to see those magical creatures they shared their magic with.

Felix chuckled softly.

"That's the charisma of a great wizard. Just their own experiences are enough to move and inspire countless people, making them wish to follow in their footsteps... But you need to think it through, not rush into decisions."

"Do you remember what I said? There was a time when post-graduation trips were popular at Hogwarts. You can use that as a reference, travel around more, broaden your horizons. Some truths only truly belong to you after you've experienced them; the wisdom from others is no more precious than a Knut."

They wore pensive expressions as they dispersed by the rotating staircase.

Colin Creevey and Cedric Diggory continued downward; their common room was in the basement. Roger Davies and Harry went up until, at last, only the three of them were heading towards Gryffindor's common room.

"It's probably around ten o'clock, there shouldn't be too many people in the common room, right?" Hermione said expectantly.

During the day, they had seemed like exotic little creatures in the classroom, attracting the attention of everyone. There were discussions all around; the attitudes of students from the other three houses were far from favorable. An atmosphere of opposition between them and Gryffindor seemed to be forming, as if they had stolen the honors of the other houses.

Gryffindor's students would defend them, but this defense often felt more like condescension, which was not what they wanted. Especially when they encountered the Creevey brothers after noon, it seemed the 'Harry Potter Fan Club' had gained new members. Dennis Creevey, Colin's brother, had even more charisma than his brother, as evidenced by the fact that he had brought a group of new students, representing all four houses.

So, the three friends fled.

They hurried to the Great Hall, finished lunch before the others arrived, and left in a hurry.

In the afternoon, during the Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid used the excuse that Blast-Ended Skrewts had grown to three feet and needed to exercise, so he had the students each walk a Blast-Ended Skrewt. These Blast-Ended Skrewts were no longer the soft, shell-less, colorless creatures from the crates; they now had a thick, gray-white, armored shell and astonishing strength.

If one only caught a glimpse and ignored the exaggerated size of the Blast-Ended Skrewts, they would appear to be walking dogs. But the truth was, they were like helpless driftwood in a gale, or like small boats in a stormy lake, being pulled forward by the Blast-Ended Skrewts—whenever sparks shot out from their tails, they would suddenly move six or seven feet forward, yanking the young witches and wizards holding the ropes behind them off balance. Lavender Brown was directly dragged to the ground, emitting a frightening scream, struggling to stand up.

Using this as an opportunity, Hagrid expressed his concern to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The three of them thanked Hagrid for rescuing them from Malfoy's relentless mockery, as Ron's face was turning as red as a cooked Blast-Ended Skrewt—Seamus had once complained that if Hagrid continued making them take care of the Blast-Ended Skrewts, he might just end up casting an Exploding Charm on them.

This comment united the long-simmering young wizards; they engaged in animated discussions. Dean described the fried scorpions and steamed crabs he had eaten, saying he could help out with either cooking method. Even Harry joined in, debating with them for a good while whether the Blast-Ended Skrewts would turn red once cooked.

...

"Your faces don't look too good. Worried about the Hungarian Horntail?" Hagrid asked at the time.

Ron's face cooled down rapidly. His face, once red from anger, now resembled the color of a Blast-Ended Skrewt's shell—a slightly grayish white. Simultaneously, his calves began to tremble involuntarily. In just a few weeks, the word "Hungarian Horntail" had successfully surpassed "spiders" and become his new fear trigger.

Seeing Ron's expression, Hagrid refrained from saying more and simply patted his shoulder. With a "thud," Ron sat on the ground.

"Oh—sorry! But this won't do, you should at least get your body in shape. That way, you can run faster..."

This was why Harry, Ron, and Hermione's attempts at consoling and thanking Hagrid ended up backfiring completely!

Ascending the spiral staircase, Harry and his friends deliberately slowed their pace. The Weasley twins hadn't exhausted their fireworks from last night's celebration yet. Knowing their habits, they would likely make up for it today, perhaps waiting for them to open the door.

As they climbed another step, two Ravenclaw girls came down the stairs towards them, took one look, then turned around and left.

Hermione let out a long sigh.

"Weren't Cedric and the others supposed to explain things for us?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"It's only been a day, not that fast," Hermione said. "They're still quite upset." "Let's take a break here," Harry said with little enthusiasm. He sat on a step, seeing the portraits on either side of the stairs staring at them, he suddenly felt a surge of anger. "Do you want to see? Come closer and get a better look!"

The portrait of an old wizard with a walrus mustache, who had just squeezed in, shot him a disdainful look, then grumbled and left.

"Harry..."

"I'm fine, just a bit uncomfortable," Harry breathed deeply and said. Sirius had comforted him in the morning, and the conversation with Mr. Scamander in the evening had momentarily pushed his worries aside, but now they were all coming back.

"If Malfoy plans to give me a nickname like Blast-Ended Skrewt or Scarhead, I'll definitely give him a good lesson," Harry said, clenching his fist.

Hermione's initially solemn face broke into a smile. Soon, they all fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Harry, do you think my family's clock now looks like?" Ron suddenly asked. "Will it be pointing to 'Mortal Peril'?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. "It probably won't." He knew what Ron was talking about. The Burrow had a magical clock that didn't display specific times but instead showed what each family member was doing. At the position of twelve on a regular clock, it read "Mortal Peril."

"I haven't told my family that I've been chosen as a champion," Ron said, looking at Hermione. "You haven't either, have you?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I hope to delay it as long as possible. Although Professor Harp said champions can invite their families to watch the tournament, I declined," she said.

"I can't get away with it," Ron said, grimacing. "Ginny writes home every week, and Fred and George send a letter about every month or so, unless they've caused some trouble. Then there's Percy and Charlie, working at the Ministry, they'll find out sooner or later..."

"Maybe one day I'll wake up and find them storming into the common room to drag me away, or I'll get a Howler from an angry owl," Ron said.

"We need to do something," Harry stood up and said.

Ron and Hermione looked up at him.

Hesitatingly, Hermione said, "Are you suggesting Room 7? But according to the professor's plan, we'll be studying dragon knowledge with Mr. Scamander's memory in the coming days. We'll finalize each person's style by the weekend and develop strategies for the tournament. Other schools are probably doing something similar. All of Beauxbatons' students are excused today."

"We can't always rely on others, Ron, what do you say?" Harry looked at Ron.

Ron licked his lips and slowly said, "I think Hermione has a point. We don't know anything yet. Those spells won't be much use against dragons..."

"How can they be useless!" Harry exclaimed loudly, once again drawing the attention of the portraits, but he paid them no mind. "Remember the professor's black Pensieve? Remember why we were chosen? Have you all forgotten?"

He stared into Hermione's eyes, and she was the first to relent. Then he looked at Ron, who swallowed hard.

A few minutes later.

Felix Harp's memory leaned against the wall, arms crossed, casually observing them.

"So, you're planning to test the dragons' mettle in advance?"

"Exactly." Harry told Ron and Hermione, trailing off.

Felix Harp's memory tilted his head to the side, as if listening to someone's words in the air. The three of them looked around but saw nothing. In the expectant gazes on them, the memory spread its arms. "Someone disagrees. But... I find it rather interesting..."

The ancient, dark wall against which he leaned began to crumble, and one by one, dragons lowered their heads, spattering a large puddle of saliva in front of the three.

"Do you need me to count you down? Three... Two..."

"Run!" Harry yelled.

>

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