A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts - Chapter 431: Professor's Tea Gathering

“Effective potion-making requires the involvement of wands, but it’s not about mindless, continuous waving of wands. It’s about a gentle flick at the right moment that can bring about wondrous changes in the cauldron’s contents.”

“So Muggles can’t grasp this beautiful process, and Squibs either,” Snape remarked slowly.

During the first weekend after the start of the school year, Professor Flitwick organized an afternoon tea gathering under the pretext of celebrating Professor Moody’s recovery. Though to Felix, this strict former Auror didn’t seem to require such formalities.

Moody, absorbed in his own snacks, didn’t even glance at the exquisite pastries on the table.

His presence here signified the end of Snape’s brief stint as a substitute, so when Felix inquired about potion-making, Snape appeared rather aloof.

Seated in a plush chair, Snape leisurely continued the earlier topic, “We cannot discount the possibility of some simple potions not needing a wand’s involvement. They might not even require refined magical guidance. Instead, they spontaneously manifest effects, more akin to coaxing out inherent properties of potion ingredients. To those well-versed in potions, it’s like dealing with semi-finished products.”

Felix understood. The potion he’d given Felch using a formula for pet remedies—no wand required, primary ingredient dragon’s blood, the rest merely catalysts to enhance and temper the dragon’s blood properties.

For wizards, some potion effects resemble spells. The choice between potions and spells relates to the wizard themselves. They select what seems simpler or most effective to achieve their goals.

Perhaps money plays a crucial factor too.

For instance, the Cheering Charm and the Elixir of Euphoria are mostly interchangeable. The charm is taught in the third year, while the elixir features in the sixth-year Advanced Potion-Making class. Yet, overlooking a seemingly inconsequential lesson and attempting to self-learn the charm isn’t easy, especially with a botched charm leading to side effects like hysteria and uncontrollable laughter.

In such cases, most wizards opt to buy the Elixir of Euphoria.

Flitwick waved his wand, making a porcelain teapot bow, filling his cup. “I’ve heard some wizards substitute wand movements with magical rituals during potion brewing, Severus?”

“And incessant repetitions of incantations,” Snape added, “mostly seen in the medieval era. Some inept wizards couldn’t control their magic, much like Squibs. Hence, they resorted to such methods.”

“I think I’ve read something similar somewhere,” muttered Felix.

“I guess it’s in Muggle fairy tales? Indeed, some careless wizards, once discovered, were burned alive,” Snape glanced at him, remarking.

“That’s ancient history. We’d best talk about something else,” uneasily interjected Professor McGonagall, turning away, “Moody, are you ready to return to classes next Monday?”

“Been delayed long enough,” Moody gnawed on a rather bland-looking piece of chicken, “Plan to sort everything over the holidays, won’t miss classes. But Hagrid insists on the final check…”

“Hasn’t your memory recovered yet?” McGonagall asked him, but her gaze shifted towards Felix.

“Voldemort was rough. And I suspect his soul is tainted by Dark magic,” Felix murmured softly.

“At least I haven’t turned into a gibbering fool, have I?” Moody gruffly remarked, letting out a short, abrupt laugh. Extending his oily hand to reach for a cup on the table, the moment his fingertips touched the cup, he froze as if electrocuted.

Quietly, Moody unhooked a hip flask from his belt, gulping it down. After finishing, he gruffly said, “The old one got lost, this is a new one Alastor gave me… he’s considerate in these matters.”

“But it’s still affecting him,” Felix thought, “Not just memory, even his reactions are slower now. His combat prowess has diminished.”

What he’d been doing lately was trying to minimize the adverse effects.

Moody grimly tore into another piece of chicken, chewing vigorously, his skin trembling. He nonchalantly remarked, “Compared to old Barty, I’m doing fine. His body’s giving up; he won’t last long in Azkaban.”

“Barty Crouch got thrown in?” Flitwick asked sharply.

All eyes turned towards Moody, who gruffly said, “Indeed, Kingsley told me. Insisted on it himself. Had a private chat with Fudge before being taken to prison—” noticing the odd looks, he waved his hand roughly, nearly hitting Flitwick’s nose. “Oh—sorry, Professor Flitwick—don’t ask me, I don’t know what they talked about, might be related to Voldemort?”

“As for whether Fudge believes it, nobody knows,” he took another swig, “that man appears indecisive but is quite obstinate and wishful. Anyway, he seems unwilling to stir too much panic, hushed up Barty’s affair; many still think he retired!”

He grinned sarcastically.

“I can’t heed him; some things surely need cautionary warnings, better than being clueless until things hit us—”

“Professor Moody,” McGonagall cleared her throat, “you, um, you’re not planning something concerning young wizards, are you? Some of your past actions…”

“You mean ‘my’ past actions? I didn’t teach all those lessons, but they do align with my style—” Moody laughed sharply again, his expression contorted, “He imitated quite well. I taught him for a while, maybe that’s part of it.”

Others looked at Moody perplexed.

Moody laughed heartily, “Old Barty wanted his son to become an Auror. So young Crouch started training alongside potential candidates from the fourth year—longer than standard Auror training. By the time of graduation, he was way ahead in his scores.”

“I remember he got twelve certificates,” Flitwick recalled. “Only a few have achieved that honor in my teaching tenure.”

“I’m not talking about those written scores, but the collective evaluations of Aurors! I also taught him some things—investigation and trap-setting parts. Everyone believed young Crouch would become an exceptional Auror, stepping into his old man’s shoes!” Moody exclaimed.

Everyone felt slightly uncomfortable. The better young Barty Crouch behaved during school, the stronger the contrast with what came afterward—he didn’t become an Auror; he chose to be a Death Eater.

Flitwick changed the subject, “Felix, I really liked the gift you gave me; I’ve already gone through it. Must say, some African gestures for spell-casting are quite impressive; I’m thinking of incorporating them into next year’s curriculum.”

Felix smiled, “I asked a few friends for recommendations on my reading list…”

McGonagall frowned, “Teaching methods in Uagadou differ greatly from Hogwarts. Their students decide their specialization early on, so many intricate concepts can be disassembled and integrated into lower-level teachings. But that’s not feasible at Hogwarts. The students selecting Human Transfiguration in the sixth year are a tiny fraction.”

“What about the part related to human transfiguration? Maybe it could be included in your Transfiguration Club?” suggested Felix.

“That’s indeed a good approach,”

McGonagall nodded. “My club only admits sixth and seventh years. They’ve gone through the O.W.Ls and naturally grasp many techniques, like what you call ‘pre-requisite knowledge’?”

She mentioned a convoluted term, continuing, “But the knowledge of transfiguration outside Uagadou isn’t as extensive. Transforming into an African elephant is common, but if the innate conditions aren’t sufficient, it might result in a malnourished baby elephant. From that perspective, Animagi seem better…”

Felix agreed wholeheartedly, “After all, Animagi involve a certain randomness, linked to each wizard’s psychological state. If one turns into a snail, it’s better than opting for an African elephant.”

McGonagall looked sternly, “Felix, you didn’t study Animagi privately, did you?”

“How could I?” Felix shrugged, “If a wizard aspires to delve deep into Transfiguration, they can experience the magic’s secrets through Transfiguration. But that’s not me… I think the cost-benefit ratio of this magic is too low.”

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