A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

The next morning, Valen lingered snugly under the velvet covers, reluctant to rise, so Felix stuffed a chattering alarm clock into its small blanket.

Valen grumpily silenced the alarm, pushed it out, then dozed off more soundly.

Felix entered the hall; outside, the weather was gloomy, the air heavy with dampness, the owls' feathers dampened by mist. A brown owl circled him twice, dropping a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Unfolding the paper, no mention of the attack on the Minister yesterday, instead, Bonnes stood by the Thieves' Fall in a serene photo on the front page. She gazed calmly at the camera, a reassuring expression while several Aurors stood solemnly behind her, Sirius leaned against the wall, poking the waterfall with his wand.

As Felix entered the Ancient Runes classroom, a student awaited at the door.

"Good morning, Professor Harp," Colin Creevey greeted enthusiastically.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Creevey. Come in." After two months, Felix opened the door for the first time, the room reeked of stale air mixed with dampness, dark mold covered the corners.

"Tsk." Felix muttered, waving his wand, opening all the windows simultaneously. A whirlwind ensued, tables and chairs rattled. Creevey's face lit up with excitement. After a dozen seconds, a grayish air mass flew out through the window, refreshing the room's air.

"Next up, mold. Tricky business." Felix muttered, pointing his wand at stubborn brown patches, emitting beams of light that erased the marks upon contact.

"Is that a cleansing charm, Professor? Can I help?" Creevey volunteered eagerly. Felix nodded, and Creevey, emulating Felix's manner, attempted to silently cast the spell, failing a few times before vocalizing, "Purify and renew! Purify and renew!"

After several minutes, they scanned the room for any remaining stains. "Nearly done. Let me think. For the love of hard work, add ten points." Felix stepped to the window; outside, a light drizzle began, blown into the classroom by the wind, cooling their faces.

Creevey settled in a front-row seat, pulling out Practical Runes (Beginner's Level), curious. "Professor, what new tools do you have this year? Could you share in advance?"

"Why would you say that?" Felix glanced at him from the window.

"Because every year you prepare something new," Creevey counted on his fingers, "First year—oh, I was in my first year then—were the magical puppets, the second year various kinds of scrying mirrors, the third year magical cards... I just wanted to know what this year's new tool was in advance."

"Ah, if that's the case... Isn't what you have in your hand one?" Felix raised an eyebrow.

Creevey blinked, looking at the Practical Runes (Beginner's Level) in his hand, disappointment evident. "But—It's just a compilation of practical runes."

"Alright." Felix waved his hand, a ring on his finger glinted—loud thud—a large box landed on the table.

Creevey's eyes widened. He leaned in, observing the contents—a variety of small wooden sticks, resembling quills but with a sharp edge at one end. These sticks bore peculiar patterns that resembled letters or runic symbols but were enigmatic.

"Runic engraving knives," Felix explained. "They appeared two years ago, but I never promoted them much, considering wands are quite effective. But as ancient runes evolve, detailed delineation becomes necessary, much like the cauldrons in Potions class, developed over centuries with various models: standard, self-stirring, collapsible, special materials, and so on..."

This was, in fact, Heidiestrand Vira's suggestion.

"How do I pick the right runic engraving knife, Professor?" Creevey asked, eyeing the collection.

"The materials are essentially the same—even from the same chestnut wood, just different designs. You can choose one you fancy, first come, first served." Felix observed Creevey eagerly selecting one, relieved.

After Valen learned to write, it loved using paintbrushes to scribble everywhere. Felix carved an entire chestnut tree into thick wooden boards the same height as Valen, convenient for scribbling and painting. Apart from a few acceptable 'artworks' collected by Felix, the rest of the materials were stored in the box.

He noticed Creevey picking up a knife, reverently eyeing the patterns. Felix decided to keep this secret, no, uphold this tradition, adding meaningless designs to all the knives in the future...

At that moment, two more students entered the classroom, Ginny and Luna, watching Creevey eagerly hovering over the box.

...Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Felix stood at the lectern. Each student held a runic engraving knife, discussing animatedly; they even earnestly speculated about the meaning of the patterns. The discussion veered toward "mysterious African script," so he quickly announced the start of class. �

"As you already know, this course has a separate practical section, signifying the value of practical runes recognized by the Wizarding Examinations Authority, incorporated into exams. According to the first edition criteria, O.W.Ls exams will involve common runic symbols and circuits, while N.E.W.Ts exams will cover runic incantations, such as the Bright Flame Charm..."

Runic incantations weren't as easy to learn as imagined; the minimum requirement was mastering a magical symbol from practical runes. Few students in the class could achieve this. In fact, aside from Ginny and Luna, who were members of the Runes Club, the count was zero.

As the lesson ended, Felix collected the summer assignments and dismissed the class. Outside, the rain grew heavier, occasional muffled thunder echoed. At noon, after lunch in the Great Hall, Felix noticed the door to the staff room ajar and pushed it open.

"Whoever's there, please close the door, thanks—It's quite noisy outside," Professor McGonagall's voice called out.

Felix shut the door, eyeing a desk—the source of the voice. But all he saw was piles of parchment, completely blocking McGonagall's figure. He gestured, igniting the fireplace. The room's dampness lessened.

"Summer assignments?"

"Yes," McGonagall glanced up, adjusting her glasses. "The first week of term is always the busiest, many things to handle: summer assignments, Quidditch trials, adjusting schedules... Also, the Phoenix Society's information needs timely sorting, not to mention comforting Kerryde—"

She suddenly fell silent.

"Muggle Studies Professor? What happened to her?" Felix asked curiously.

McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Well, you'll probably hear from elsewhere... She got involved in a tricky situation."

Felix's impression of this professor lingered from two years ago; they both attended an unsuccessful international conference. The professor had mentioned researching a popular science book about genes and inheritance.

A thought struck him— "It wouldn't be Death Eaters causing trouble for her?"

But that didn't seem likely; Rita Skeeter was still doing fine.

"Of course not. She—she got caught by Muggle police," McGonag

all hummed, cryptic. "Said she was consulting a scholar, ended up accidentally causing sparks with her wand, suspected of possessing dangerous weapons."

This... Felix pursed his lips, after a moment, he dryly said, "She wasn't penalized, was she?"

"The Ministry, given her position, didn't impose severe penalties—just a warning and a fine. Luckily, she didn't end up in Azkaban. She might feel embarrassed; she submitted a resignation letter to Dumbledore, but the Headmaster didn't accept it. She's been holed up in her office for days, claiming to prepare a new book."

Felix raised an eyebrow, linking it to Professor Burbages' forthcoming paper. He felt this new book might cause a stir, not that it couldn't be published, but the timing was sensitive. It took less than ten seconds for him to devise a solution—sending her an entire set of biology books.

If she was determined to research, she should invest more time; by the time she figured it all out, the battle might be over.

At that moment, the door creaked open again.

The scratching of quills on parchment was instantly drowned out by the noise from outside, followed by a rush of damp, cold air into the room, the fire crackling on the glowing wood, sparking sparks.

With a loud thud, the door slammed shut, and Snape, draped in his perennial black robe, entered, a stack of thick parchment floating behind him.

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