A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Harry looked puzzled as he passed the letter to a eager Hermione and Ron by his side, all three eagerly diving into its contents.

"Ms. Jian, purely in terms of writing style, it might not be your strong suit for book writing; it's a bit too straightforward... just kidding. I'd suggest starting from the perspective of the orphaned girl, unveiling layers of the past... As for weaving them together, maybe find an overarching theme for the story—Why does the mayor protect the commoners? Why is the boy content being an undercover agent?

How did the orphaned girl survive? By the way, some information is known only to the individuals involved or their closest confidants, making it puzzling to outsiders. For instance, I have a Niffler named Valen. Only I know how many hours it sleeps a day or its recent obsession with gaming... If one day it stops splurging, don't be surprised; I might have cut its pocket money.

Even after reading your story, I remain convinced of this.

Lastly, consider changing the name of the owl. It doesn't seem too pleased when I call it 'Zhu Weiqiong.'"

Hermione finished reading the letter, looking pensive. "Is it really that bad?" she asked.

Ron chuckled, "I told you not to let Hedwig (Ron's owl) carry that name; it's just too silly." Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"You both agreed at the time," she glanced at Harry, seeking his opinion.

Harry didn't catch her gaze, pondering with a furrowed brow, "What could be the overarching theme? Guilt? That doesn't seem right; Voldemort doesn't feel guilty."

During the weekend, Harry bumped into Snape again at the library entrance, Snape carrying two thick books as he emerged.

Harry felt a wave of relief. It meant Snape hadn't caught onto the keyword 'horcrux' yet. It made sense; Hermione had scoured the restricted section and couldn't find any reference material. She even knew the name of the horcrux!

The only book mentioning 'horcrux' was "Secrets of Darkest Magic," but it was intentionally cryptic, revealing only half the story.

Harry was as disappointed then as he was grateful now.

"Potter! What are you up to?" Snape approached briskly, ice-cold in his tone. From this angle, Harry could see the book's cover—a contorted face of a wizard enduring torture, mouth wide enough to fit half a coconut.

"I'm here to find some books in the library," Harry replied.

He averted his gaze from the book's cover, staring into Snape's face. It was a reflex; since their first meeting, Snape had shown inexplicable animosity. Harry disliked Snape too, whether it was his slow and dragging way of speaking, the stone-cold eyes, greasy hair, or the hooked nose.

These factors individually were enough for Harry's dislike, let alone combined. Even disregarding these, Harry didn't consider Snape a competent teacher. His bias was notorious; even Sirius restrained himself to maintain fairness, yet Snape deducted points recklessly...

"It doesn't look like it. Are you waiting for someone?" Snape said maliciously, eyeing Harry's bulging pockets. "I bet there's contraband in there. Hand it over. Dolohov might find it interesting."

Harry obediently took out something—a silver-gray substance resembling liquid—that dropped from his hand, sparkling on the floor.

Snape sucked in a breath.

"This is my invisibility cloak, a relic from my parents. It saved me a few times from Voldemort," Harry stared into his eyes. "Professor Snape, is this considered contraband?"

Snape remained silent for a long moment.

It felt like an unspoken standoff between them, at least according to Harry. He was prepared; if Snape decided to confiscate it—it suited his plan as Dumbledore had gifted it to him on his birthday.

Snape diverted his gaze from the cloak, fixed on Harry, and coldly said, "Put it away!"

Harry hesitated. He didn't know what to do at this point; his plan didn't anticipate the next move. In his hesitation, he felt a blackout, a gust of wind passing, the hem of a black robe brushing his hair. When Harry looked up, Snape was swiftly retreating.

Harry stared at Snape's departing figure, an odd mix of emotions brewing within. In the evening, as he pushed open the common room door, Ron and Hermione rushed up eagerly, "Where were you, Harry?" "Yeah, we've searched everywhere."

"I went to the corridor," Harry mumbled.

"The corridor?" Ron looked at him puzzled, "Why there, it's so cold—"

"Just thinking," Harry muttered vaguely. He returned to his room, clothes still on, lying straight on his four-poster bed. He had a restless night, resulting in a dazed day with dark circles under his eyes.

"Tell me, what color is this, Potter?" in Potions class, Snape's eyes gleamed with malicious intent as he spooned out the potion from Harry's cauldron and let it flow back, visible to the entire class.

"Green," Harry said flatly.

"What color should it be?" Snape inquired in his inscrutable tone.

"Pink," Harry responded.

"Pink, so you can differentiate," Snape repeated, laughter rippling around. "But what you've brewed is just a pot of waste... Zero marks for you, Potter." With a wave of his wand, the liquid vanished.

Harry sat expressionless, trembling with anger. He hadn't done well, but Goyle's potion was a mess, emitting foul odors and smoke, yet Snape decided to give him zero. It was clear, Snape was targeting him.

He glared at Snape's retreating figure, this time, Harry's mind was clear—no cluttered thoughts, just a desire to hex him. The Bat-Bogey hex seemed alluring now; he had imagined a swarm of bats flying out of Snape's oversized hooked nose.

"Don't be impulsive, Harry," Hermione urged him to calm down. Ron had no time to speak, his cauldron was emitting steam, producing golden bubbles.

...

Felix had always wondered how Voldemort's insider at the Ministry might appear at the school until late January when he heard Sirius complain.

"Making a fuss for nothing," Sirius muttered under his breath. It was breakfast time, and he was wrestling with a seemingly tough steak, the clinks of cutlery against the plate grating on the ears. "I don't understand why the Ministry has sent a team into the school at such a critical time, checking the effectiveness of phantom-shift and followers' visibility... Do they not trust me?"

"Not too bad, Professor Flitwick praised you," Felix remarked casually while flipping through The Prophesier.

"It's—his—habit—" Sirius was still wrestling with his steak, having exerted too much force, causing the plate to shatter. He angrily waved his wand, repairing it instantly, then pointed again, causing the steak to split into five pieces.

"No, I have to ask Amelia what she's up to!" Felix had no interest in interfering; he closed the newspaper and finished the last

bit of milk.

"What have you been up to lately?"

"Building houses."

"Huh, sorry?"

"Really building houses," Sirius wolfed down the meat, speaking vaguely, "Constructing various landscapes. You know, the castle doesn't allow that, and I feel the Room of Requirement isn't realistic enough... I even thought of taking the students to the shrieking shack for some adventure, convenient to set up some traps."

"You're still carrying your surveillance badge," Felix reminded him.

"Thank you."

They went their separate ways to their classes. The atmosphere in the Ancient Magic class for seventh years was relaxed. Despite it being the final year, with various innovative teaching techniques, students were making swift progress, leaving them least concerned about this subject.

Felix led the students to classroom seven, two ghosts floating past them, chatting as they moved. "Today's dessert was good."

The students took it in stride.

They passed through what looked like a ripple in the air, and Felix stopped at the door. After the last student jumped through, a few seconds passed before an identical figure materialized in the air.

Felix, observing his double, grinned, "Planning something mischievous?"

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