A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts - Chapter 390: Seven Letters

In the ancient magical script class the next day, Felix Harp was perplexed by Harry and his friends’ absentmindedness and distracted demeanor. He wondered if he had placed too much pressure on them and took a moment to reassure them as the class ended.

In the evening, he received a letter from an owl.

He opened the letter, and a faint scent of gentleman’s cologne lingered on the envelope. The sender was the head of the Werewolf Registry at the British Ministry of Magic—

“Mr. Harp, greetings.

Up until the first ten months of this year (early November), the number of registered werewolves within the UK has increased by twenty percent compared to the previous year. The entire department is exhilarated by this achievement! Such a commendable result is owed to the promotion and effectiveness of the Wolfsbane Potion. Thanks to the remarkable contributions of Mr. Belby and Professor Snape, I dare say that within a maximum of ten years, werewolves within the UK will be effectively managed. At that time, I will submit a report to the Wizengamot to propose awarding Professor Snape a Order of Merlin, at the very least…

Regarding the turmoil surrounding the Quidditch World Cup—termed ‘turmoil’ by the Ministry—most of the masked wizards involved come from pure-blood families, and their actions have truly brought disgrace upon everyone. I assure you, my family and I would never be a part of such actions.

Among these masked wizards, two individuals have been sentenced to Azkaban for three and six months respectively. They admitted to orchestrating the incident—one proposed a march at the campsite after heavy drinking, and the other employed despicable means to awaken the unfortunate Muggle Robert family…

…

Other participants have been fined substantial sums, but due to certain political obstacles, their identities have been concealed. I know no more than what you could gather from newspapers, merely the names of the two instigators—Amycus Carrow and Walden MacNair.”

Felix calmly folded the letter.

Over the next two days, owls arrived from all corners of the world, starting with those from the UK, followed by France, Europe, and finally, other continents.

Felix opened the second letter, this one from St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Previously, Felix had dedicated time to train a group of healers, including this young practitioner—

“Dear Mr. Harp,

This marks our fifth correspondence, and I am grateful that you have not ridiculed my foolish inquiries, generously offering answers.

Several patients diagnosed with incurable memory impairment have, for the most part, regained their sanity and can live independently. Five of them have been taken home by their families and only require weekly visits. Two severely afflicted patients, however, need continued observation within the hospital. Please pardon our limited capabilities, as we have yet to achieve the level of recovery achieved by the Longbottoms.

Regarding your inquiry—it is indeed true. Messrs. Crabbe and Goyle suffered severe magical puncture wounds to their chests and abdomens. However, both families have kept it under wraps and sought treatment from a retired healer through connections. Unbeknownst to them, that healer happens to be my uncle. I hesitate to admit my relation to him in public—though skilled, my uncle’s penchant for alcohol led to a disastrous mix-up between Boomslang skin and ginger root during potion brewing. You cannot fathom how the lady who sought treatment for facial blemishes that day ended up looking… Regardless, he left the hospital in disgrace, bearing the scratch marks of a patient stricken with sudden-onset insanity.

Enclosed is a diagnosis report I obtained from my uncle, in exchange for two measures of fine malt whisky! That old nag! Once again, I wish you a pleasant life and successful work.

Also, a portrait of you and me in the hospital has become great friends. I convinced a painter-patient of mine to add a candy house to the portrait, which he adores!

Furthermore, I’ve collected clippings of your coverage at the Quidditch World Cup, resting on my office desk.”

The third letter arrived from the Ministry of Magic, unsigned, containing a lengthy list of names—over thirty of them. Felix studied the list closely, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

The fourth letter was a reply from Damocles Belby. His handwriting was somewhat untidy, and the envelope carried a hint of potion—

“Felix,

Were it not for your reminder, I might have overlooked the Wolfsbane Potion matter. Forgive me, as my recent focus has been on other potions…

Following your reminder, I deliberately inquired at the Extraordinary Apothecaries Association. Currently, the authorized sale of the Wolfsbane Potion by the Ministry of Magic remains steady. The Ministry has recruited a batch of werewolves for employment, tasks that involve hard and dirty work, but certainly better than before… Still, a considerable number of stubborn werewolves remain secluded in the fields. No one knows their specific movements, not even within their own circles. Today in Britain, tomorrow they might be crossing the channel to France…

From what I understand, other European countries have approached the Extraordinary Apothecaries Association, hoping to act as intermediaries and persuade the British Ministry of Magic to share the recipe for the Wolfsbane Potion, especially the version that Severus and I refined. Felix Fogherty has been occupied with this matter recently, constantly absent—these are the words of the Deputy Head of the Apothecaries Association. The general public is still unaware.

One more thing worth sharing.

While visiting the Deputy Head of the Association, I encountered my former Headmaster, Professor Slughorn. He still enjoys life as much as ever. When I gently suggested he cut back on sweets and preserves, he told me it was the greatest pleasure of his life.”

The fifth letter came from Romulus Vaisey in France.

He had crossed paths with Felix Harp during the summer holiday two years ago. There was a slight misunderstanding then, but their relationship improved after it was resolved.

“Dear Felix Harp,

I’m delighted to receive your letter.

If you want to know about security in France, you couldn’t have found a better person than me, on the frontlines as I am. All I can say is that it’s business as usual… Those dark corners you’re so curious about, I can’t fathom why they interest you. Are you planning to write a book? Honestly, I haven’t really read your earlier Muggle books, just stashed them away when they arrived at the office. It was only when I was tidying up recently that I discovered a bag of Kneazle cat food had gone bad inside. I also found your book then, which solved a little puzzle for me. That day at the Muggle university in France, when my nephew reported suspicious individuals to me, your name sounded somewhat familiar. I might have mistakenly thought you were some exotic dark wizard…

Back to the point. The werewolves in France are relatively settled and have no plans to migrate—though I’m hoping for that day. Of course, not necessarily to Britain, south or north would do just as well (do not publish the contents of this letter, as it could cause trouble for me). Another matter involves vampires and dark wizards. They’re locked in a fierce battle over a mine in southern France. I advised my informant to watch and wait, to cast the net when the time is right. Perhaps by the time we meet again, I’ll be the Director of the French office.

Additionally, my nephew Karami has also chosen to become a wizard. He’s currently learning the ropes alongside me. As I write this letter, he’s sneaking peeks beside me, but I’ve chased him out.

Lastly, the photos from the Quidditch World Cup are quite cool.”

The sixth letter came from the head of the Muggle Problems Department, a branch of the Swiss Ministry of Magic—

“Felix, pleased to receive your letter. The suggestions you made last time were quite constructive. I made a few modifications and submitted them above. Things are operating smoothly now. It’s odd what’s still rattling around in your head…

I’ve seen the photos reprinted from the British Daily Prophet. It’s hard to believe such a malicious event occurred at the World Cup. If handed to us, we wouldn’t have stirred up such chaos.

As for your question, I’ve learned from colleagues that the giant community here is still entrenched deep in the mountains, with no signs of external migration. Of course, I can’t be a hundred percent certain. If observers get too close, the giants might charge at them and start hurling stones.

I’ve attached the address of the giant community. If you’re planning any clandestine investigations, please exercise caution.”

As Felix Harp ate his breakfast on Friday morning, he received the final letter. It was from Lucius Malfoy, a short and cryptic message with just a date and time.

“November 4th, Friday night, 11 o’clock, meet at the peak of the highest hill outside Hogwarts.”

He casually wiped the ink off the parchment, spread jam on his bread. After all, he had classes to attend to today.

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