A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts - Chapter 475: A Memory Fragment

“Ginny’s summing it up,” she said, her vibrant, flame-like hair swaying as she counted on her fingers. “Early phase, snag a trophy – either win or snatch it from others, then keep mobile—”

She tilted her head at Hermione. “While finding teammates, watch out for ambushes, dodge the maze traps, and the dangerous creatures within it—”

Ron nodded solemnly, affirming his agreement.

“—and the final stage,” Ginny’s gaze rested on Harry, “as time stretches, all champions edge closer to the trophy, likely meeting new enemies just steps away, so it’s swift and decisive action!”

She gestured fiercely, and Harry thought she was incredibly cool today.

“You could also bank on luck,” Ron earnestly suggested, “consider the best-case scenario, haven’t you forgotten? We’re among the first in the maze. If we’re lucky enough, we might not even encounter anyone else…”

They discussed in the corner the entire day, until late afternoon when Professor McGonagall surprisingly showed up in the common room, summoning Harry and Ron, leaving Hermione and Ginny puzzled. They returned just before lights-out, unable to conceal their excitement.

“What did Professor McGonagall say to you guys?” Hermione lifted her head from a stack of thick parchment, her eyes lifeless, staring through the gap between Harry and Ron. She spent considerable time reorganizing the rules again.

“It’s people from the Anti-Dark Arts League,” Harry exclaimed, handing over a certificate. Hermione and Ginny leaned in to see; Ginny let out a short, sharp scream. “You’re officially in the Anti-Dark Arts League? Harry, is this for real?”

“And me,” Ron reminded her.

But Ginny, ignoring Ron, exclaimed to Harry, “Do you know what this means?”

“It means, um… I’ve joined a magical organization?” Harry hesitated in response.

“No, definitely not!” Ginny’s fiery hair danced again. “Listen, it’s not an honorary membership! There’s a difference—”

“Hold on, I vaguely remember…” Ron racked his brains. “Someone mentioned this to me, several times.”

“It was Lockhart,” Hermione, as reliable as ever, chimed in.

“Exactly! He claimed to be an honorary member of the Anti-Dark Arts League, not a full one… What does that imply?” Ron stared at his certificate, seeking a perfect explanation.

“Full members need assessment or substantial contributions, preferably ones that can be showcased,” Ginny, more knowledgeable in this, explained. “I reckon Lockhart refused to demonstrate any abilities because he simply doesn’t possess any!”

Harry was thrilled, divulging more information. “The Anti-Dark Arts League said if I plan to pursue an auror career or similar, they can provide a recommendation, even if I lack a couple of O.W.Ls—”

“But you won’t take advantage, will you?” Hermione eyed him sternly.

“No, of course not,” Harry reluctantly agreed, feeling the League’s promise could serve as a safety net.

“The only regret is Malfoy got the same honor,” Ron said, “quite ironic, isn’t it? During the Quidditch World Cup chaos, he hinted that his dad was involved in the riot to us.”

“Why didn’t Professor Snape arrest him for that!”

After a while, Ginny elegantly yawned and headed off to the girls’ dorm to sleep.

Harry and Ron gleefully examined their certificates, caressing the patterns and seals. No matter how many times they looked, they still adored them. Later, as they lay in bed after lights-out, Ron said to Harry, “I reckon being an auror wouldn’t be too bad.” Neville listened for a while, unable to resist joining in, “Actually, um, I wouldn’t mind being an auror, or, well, a professor.”

Harry was surprised to find three in their dorm aspiring to be aurors. Soon, Seamus and Dean joined the discussion, and they didn’t sleep until the wee hours.

Half in dreams, Harry imagined himself as an auror: Ron and Hermione by his side, Neville, Seamus, and Dean around him. Surprisingly, amidst the crowd, he saw the figures of Luna, Ginny, and Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy? Even in slumber, Harry found it odd. He muttered discontentedly, and the images vanished swiftly. He stood in an ancient room, smelling something akin to Grimmauld Place, though definitely not the same location.

Sitting on a couch, he was talking to someone. “You’ve done well, Yaxley, proving your loyalty anew…”

Harry turned over, Occlumency kicking in, and he fell back into a sweet dream.

After June began, time quietly accelerated. Following the completion of the Wizarding exams for fifth and seventh years, the finals for other years officially commenced. This also meant the approach of the third task—the competition would take place on the last evening after the exams.

The castle buzzed with tension and excitement. After the Ancient Runes exam on the third day, Felix overheard a student saying, “Just endure these four remaining days, and we can watch the final match, then go wild for a week, embracing the long and beautiful summer!”

He wholeheartedly agreed with the student.

For the first two-thirds of June, he’d been blissful. His body’s transformation was nearly complete—though he couldn’t see any use for it yet, there were no hindrances, indicating smooth progress.

The next morning, on June 21st, while overseeing the fourth-year exams, though the champions were exempt, Hermione persisted and spent twenty minutes on her paper before taking out her Runes notes to mull over Nick LeMoyne’s Time Turner dismantling plan. From her recent queries, Felix deduced she should finish before the school year ended.

However, what surprised him was Hermione handing him a paper on the day exams concluded.

“Professor, this is my design. I made some alterations to Nick LeMoyne’s research. It’s a bit more intricate, but it bypasses the complex alchemical techniques.”

“I don’t see any issues, a very clever transformation, especially suited to your magical aptitude, Miss Granger,” Felix remarked after a thorough inspection.

Hermione left the office satisfied.

Before bedtime, an owl landed outside the window, incessantly pecking at the window ledge.

After Felix opened the window, the brown owl with a postal band flew around the room, dropping a palm-sized package and swiftly departing.

Upon opening the package, inside a small box was a thumb-sized glass vial. Felix held up the translucent vial, gazing at the magical lamp on the ceiling; inside was a silvery substance, swirling lazily, neither solid nor liquid.

It was a memory fragment.

Whose memory could it be? Felix smirked faintly, genuinely intrigued by the memory’s owner.

Gently tapping the wand on the stopper, the sealed cap popped open instantly. The obsidian-like wand swirled silver threads around its tip, then with a forceful flick into the air, an image appeared abruptly:

In the picture, Felix’s body shattered amidst a blaze of green light, while simultaneously, a chilling voice lingered in the office—

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Cheep!” Valen, startled, froze momentarily, then jumped into Felix’s arms, covering its eyes with both tiny hands, gripping his shirt tightly.

“It’s alright,” Felix reassured softly, staring at the vanishing light, re-forming the memory into silver threads in his hand, his fingertips twirling, lost in thought.

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