A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts
Chapter 595: The Secret of Classroom Seven - (2)

The vanishing golden ripples stopped, and after a few seconds, a hand appeared, followed by an elegant face - a younger Professor McGonagall. She pursed her lips, half of her body visible, looking rather eerie. "It's Harry," she said in a flat tone.

The just-tossed red envelope started smoking, triggering painful memories; it was a Howler. Harry attempted to step back, but it felt as if his feet were rooted to the spot.

"P-Professor McGonagall?"

"Oh, that," the younger Professor McGonagall replied with a deadpan expression, "That's Felix's design. It's useless, just for scaring people." Dismissively, she made the half-sized mirror transform into a door, walked in, and then conjured two beautiful chairs.

"Let's sit down and listen together; there have been significant changes here lately."

So, Harry and Professor McGonagall sat on the chairs, while the Howler - or rather, the instructional document pretending to be a Howler? Harry couldn't tell - opened its mouth and vividly described the functions of Classroom Seven.

"... a student's great aid... novel experiences... leading the way into the future..."

Harry listened intently, only realizing after five minutes that it was all nonsense. As it neared the end, it finally got to the point.

"Here, it's all about the students' will. You can choose single-player mode, class mode, or study with friends. Yes, it's incredibly free... You'll find the biggest difference from regular classes here," the envelope opened wide, almost spitting on Harry, who leaned back, fearing the saliva would hit him. "We won't ask you to do anything."

"In other words, you must figure out what you want! No one can help you with that."

The envelope started to burn, making Harry fear it might explode. But Professor McGonagall simply waved her hand, making it disappear.

"Do you understand now?" the young Professor McGonagall asked.

"Um..." Harry pondered, glancing at the elegantly dressed McGonagall. Mentally, he called her 'Madam McGonagall'. "This means that Room Seven and regular classes are different."

He realized he'd just uttered a cliché.

"We hope both complement each other—classrooms and Room Seven, professors and memories," corrected the young Professor McGonagall, "What else?"

"Um, can I learn whatever I want?" Harry guessed, and Madam McGonagall smiled at him. "Restricted to Transfiguration, yes, you got that right."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"What about Ron and Hermione? Did they experience the 'Howling Letters' baptism too?" Harry asked, wondering if Ron could stay calm when confronted with something like the Howling Letters.

"Almost, but they didn't see me." McGonagall said. "A moment of whimsy," she added quietly, then waved her hand, and two blurry images appeared in the air, showing Ron and Hermione.

Ron was being chased by round things, while Hermione stood in front of a wall lost in thought, the wall covered with hundreds of books. Hermione paced around, occasionally flipping through the books, which obediently turned their pages...

Harry was dumbfounded. It was amazing, but why such a big difference between the two?

Was this place divided based on intelligence?

"They chose different learning methods," Madam McGonagall explained. "Ron prefers learning through games, so I let a group of plates chase him until he turns them all into mushrooms successfully."

Harry silently prayed for Ron.

"As for Hermione—she's more inclined to ponder. In fact, I think she's a bit of a Ravenclaw," McGonagall said.

Suddenly, Harry thought of the rumors he'd heard these past few days. He gathered courage and asked, "McGonagall—um—Madam?" The young Professor McGonagall's lips curved into a faint smile, reassuring Harry, and he asked his burning question, "Did you really experience the Sorting Hat?"

"Yes."

"Professor Flitwick too?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, we—our originals, that is—occasionally joke about it," she said. "I have those memories. But, actually, Flitwick doesn't quite count as a Sorting Hat. He just took a little longer to sort."

"Alright, I can't linger. There are quite a few students these days, and I must keep an eye on them at all times. Even though others help, but..." she muttered, implying 'not wanting to trouble others.'

"I occasionally appear to teach as a class—not lecturing but answering questions. It feels nostalgic," she said. "One thing you should know: here, whatever you wish for, you'll receive."

"Imagination is crucial." She proved this by casually drawing a door in the air, then pushed it open and left. When Harry approached, the door had vanished.

He stood there for a while, tentatively asking, "Can I change the environment here? Like... into a forest?"

The air around him began to ripple, and the outlines of tall trees and bushes appeared, becoming real a few seconds later. Harry watched in amazement, almost thinking he was in Professor Snape's thoughts classroom. Then he tried different environments: the Black Lake, the Great Hall, corridors, the clock tower, even a screaming shack.

Playfully exploring for a while, Harry remembered Ron still being chased by plates. He hurriedly asked, "Can I go to where Ron is? Ron Weasley, red hair and freckles—"

Words appeared in the air: Consent required. After a few seconds, a blurry image formed in the air, and as Harry leaned closer to see clearer, he saw Ron running towards him.

Ron swung his wand backward suddenly, and a few dark mushrooms sprouted on the nearest plate. When he turned around, he saw Harry ahead. Excitedly, he yelled, "Harry? Just now, I saw some words floating in front, thought it was an illusion—"

"Watch out!" Harry shouted.

"Bang!" Ron crashed through the blurry air, colliding heavily with Harry.

Stars danced before Harry's eyes, clutching his nose, tears streaming. After what seemed like ages, he pushed Ron's legs away from his chest, struggling to get up. His glasses were askew, blurring his vision. Quickly adjusting them, he saw the plates rolling around the two of them.

When Harry stood upright, the plates, as if receiving a signal, rolled toward him. He decisively sat back down, pulling Ron down with him.

The plates stopped moving.

"Can we use other magic?" Harry and Ron discussed a plan.

"Nope," Ron frowned. "Let me show you." He cast a stunning spell, but it went right through the plates. "I think they only react to Transfiguration."

Harry scratched his head, already envisioning scenes of practicing shrinking owls into miniature telescopes.

Maybe next time, try Hermione's method?

...

Deep within Room Seven.

This was the absolute core of Room Seven, filled with intricate magical circuits and nodes, like underground pipes, wrapped in layers of protective magic.

Theoretically, this place couldn't be found by outsiders, not even memories. Because at its construction, Dumbledore, using Headmaster's authority—just like the Room of Requirement—connected Room Seven's magic supply to the entire castle.

At this moment, Felix appeared in this 'non-existent' place, surrounded by jars and containers subtly affected by magic, with every now and then, a star-like light twinkling at the mouth of the containers.

Felix clapped his hands, stood up.

"Let me think... happiness, anger, fear, sadness, curiosity, disgust, guilt, pride, calmness, confusion, desire, and love and hate—what else? Oh well, I'll detail them later."

As the decisive battle approached, everyone was making their preparations.

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