A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts
Chapter 627: Evening Gathering

Chapter 627: Evening Gathering

Has Dumbledore truly possessed the Resurrection Stone? It's been two weeks since Felix Harp obtained the second set of information about the realm of souls from Dumbledore. He couldn't help but ponder this question. Judging from Dumbledore's behavior, nothing could be deduced. His activities were highly regular, having breakfast in the Great Hall in the mornings and occasionally appearing in the Dark Arts Defense class during the day.

"Very well, Riddle, ten points to Slytherin," Felix said in the classroom, looking at the boy with shiny black hair in the first row. "You are the first student to successfully transfigure a matchstick into a needle. Any tips?"

Young Tom Riddle stood up.

"One must be familiar enough with the object before and after the transformation," he said.

"Yeah, who could be more familiar with needlework than an orphan?" a student remarked in a not-so-loud voice, causing laughter around. The young wizard and his companions maliciously scrutinized Riddle's second-hand robes and old textbooks.

"Silence," Felix said, "I thought you would feel ashamed, as one's background cannot be changed, but the level of effort is something you can determine for yourselves." He looked at the expressionless Riddle. "Anything else?"

"I think confidence and skill should also be considered, Professor Dumbledore," Riddle said.

"Accurate enough. Please, have a seat," Felix leaned against the lectern. "Transfiguration is a complex subject, more rigorous and scientific than most. Personally, I believe that's its advantage."

"Riddle just pointed out the methods of learning Transfiguration: confidence, skill, and sufficient familiarity with the transformed object... the first two can be acquired through training, but if you want to excel in the field of Transfiguration, let me share my experience: maintain enough love and curiosity for life..."

The bell rang, and students began to pack up.

Felix looked at Tom Riddle. For some reason, the sunlight on him always seemed outdated, as if extracted from an old album. He silently left the classroom, following a group of Slytherin students, and cornered them in a secluded corner.

"Everett," Riddle said softly, "you seem to have an opinion about my clothes."

"Oh, go away, country bumpkin," Everett scoffed.

"Country bumpkin? I thought harsher words would come from your mouth, like... mudblood," Riddle said in an emotionless tone, causing laughter around. The young wizard and his companions suddenly felt breathless, and Everett stammered, "S-school doesn't allow it."

"But it doesn't stop you from using it in private, does it?" Riddle asked almost in a whisper. "Otherwise, how would I know?"

Everett retreated a step, shrinking against the wall.

"Listen, at least I haven't said it publicly. Don't think of threatening me by telling the professors, even if you have a good relationship with Professor Dumbledore—"

"Oh, you're afraid," Riddle said contemptuously. "Dumbledore stands on the side of wizards from Muggle families, so you must tuck your tails in." Everett's face reddened due to anger, but Riddle continued, "Blood purity has its necessity; I've read similar interpretations in Muggle books."

Confusion appeared on Everett and his companions' faces.

"Royalty, Muggles call those with noble blood," Riddle explained. "They have a sense of honor higher than commoners, inspired by the achievements of their ancestors. Born to achieve great things. Ollivander, who sells wands, told me these things—"

"He told me too."

"And me."

Riddle's face showed a faint blush, and a hint of cunning flashed in his eyes. He spoke slowly, "Perhaps just a courtesy, but undoubtedly, I heard the call from the blood of ancestors within me, clear as day, right here at this school."

"But you're an orphan," Everett said.

"My friend," Riddle extended his hand, and Everett hesitantly shook it. Then his whole body stiffened, unable to move. Riddle approached, leaned close to his ear, and said, "When gold is mixed with dirt, its value doesn't diminish. The real tragedy is those who pass by it without recognizing it."

He let go, tilted his head, and looked at the bewildered Everett, appearing quite satisfied.

"Very well," Riddle said casually. "I heard Professor Kettleburn has got some Fire Ash Snakes. Would you like to see them?"

"We're only in our first year," Everett felt the restraint on his body disappear, hesitatingly saying, "We can only choose his class from the third year."

Riddle let out a loud sneer. "Is that difficult? We just need to approach him and state our request. Honestly, I'm a bit worried about your education. How could such a simple thing make you hesitate?"

Everett blushed, "I-I've learned it, of course!"

But Riddle lazily waved his hand, "Leave the introduction task to me. You just need to show a bit of courage and follow me..." His eyes stared menacingly at them. "Don't say you're not brave enough."

And so, an adventure was decided, without even a hint of risk—Riddle told them the time on a sunny weekend.

Riddle watched Everett and his companions leave, his face returning to calmness.

At this moment, applause sounded in the darkness. "Who?" Riddle called out, squinting his eyes. He saw brown beards emerging from the darkness, and his expression quickly became polite. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Little Tom, it seems you're adapting quite well," Felix appeared with a smiling face.

Riddle's eyes showed a trace of panic. "You heard everything, sir? I don't want to defend myself, but," he said stubbornly, "I have to survive in school first."

"So you picked up that outdated theory?" Felix asked gently.

Riddle's face turned pale.

"Using a knife on the weaker ones is also a method," Felix said thoughtfully. "What interests me more is how you plan to win over Everett and his friends, Fire Ash Snakes... Ah, I understand. Snake-like tone."

"Do you have a way to change my situation, sir?" Riddle no longer concealed it, sarcastically asking, "It's only been a few days since school started, and people are gossiping behind my back, mocking my robes and textbooks. What did you say back then? Focus on studying... of course, you haven't experienced it."

"On the contrary," Felix said, "we have quite a few similarities."

Riddle gave him an appraising look, seemingly judging the truthfulness of these words. Undoubtedly, he failed once again. There was no additional emotion on that cheerful face, which made him feel frustrated and secretly admiring.

"I was sorted into Gryffindor. A year before I enrolled, my father Percival attacked three young Muggles, and it caused a great commotion." Felix said indifferently, "People saw me as the son of a Muggle-hater, deliberately mentioning it in front of me, discussing it with relish. Some malicious individuals even highly praised my father's actions."

"How did you counterattack?" Riddle asked.

"Focus on studying," Felix said with a relaxed smile.

"Perhaps my following words are not very modest, but I still believe I was right—I was gifted, and the school's curriculum posed no difficulty for me. In just a few months, I stood out. People acknowledged me for my own knowledge, not because I had a Muggle-hating father. I didn't need to please anyone, but I didn't hesitate to offer help and encouragement to students, so I quickly made friends."

Riddle pondered for a moment, then raised his head.

"You know Everett and I made an agreement, sir. I still want to see the Fire Ash Snakes."

"Then go, Tom. I won't stop you from making friends." Felix retreated and disappeared, and outside the corridor, dark clouds had gathered at some point. He knew that today could only end here.

...

Felix Harp emerged from Classroom 7 and returned to his office, watching as an owl flew out of the window. The owl circled above the castle for two rounds before heading straight into Gryffindor's common room.

"You finally emerged, Hermione. Why so late?" Harry asked, perking up, as he and Ron adjusted the bowties on their dress robes.

"Just unwrapping gifts," Hermione replied shortly, dressed in an elegant outfit.

"Did you get any peculiar things?" Harry asked with interest.

"Ravenclaw sent me a small vial of love potion," Hermione blushed slightly.

Ron coughed violently. "What kind of nonsense is that?"

Hermione shut her mouth. "Don't pry." She glared at Ron before inspecting their outfits. "Ready? Let's go." They descended the stairs, and Ron was eagerly questioning Hermione about the love potion, "Who are you planning to use it on?" "Threw it away," Hermione said sternly. Ron doubted this explanation, but Hermione raised her wand, threatening to dangle him from the balcony, forcing him to stay silent.

Harry felt regretful; though he hadn't said anything, he was curious.

Slughorn's office was much larger than regular rooms. Perhaps for the party, emerald green, deep red, and gold curtains hung from the ceiling and walls. Faint music echoed from above, and house-elves carrying trays roamed around. Ron casually grabbed a chicken leg. "Shiny and glossy. I bet it's coated with honey," he confidently remarked.

"Harry, my boy!" Slughorn approached them joyfully. "And Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley! I just spoke about your brother— the youngest department head!" He informed Ron, then led Harry inside, gesturing for Hermione and Ron to help themselves.

"How did he know Percy became a department head?" Ron whispered.

"It's obvious," Hermione said, picking up a glass of mead, taking a small sip. A slightly tipsy voice came from above her head, "Darling, I must say this mead is a bit bland."

Hermione turned around, and Professor Trelawney extended an arm, seemingly pickled in sherry, wiping Hermione's nose with a cup of mead.

"Thank you, Professor Trelawney," Hermione said coldly.

Trelawney, unaffected, drank the contents, pleased. "Not bad; the honey is abundant." Finally noticing Hermione's face, she slurred, "It's you," in a drunken manner. "I regret you dropping my class; you know, I teach not just knowledge, but also life experience... wisdom, things you can't learn elsewhere. Smooth sailing isn't always good; I saw in the crystal ball... angry faces, caution... hidden dangers."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to be wary of being hit by a crystal ball in the dark? I'll keep an eye out, but it's not a big concern." Ron laughed beside her while Trelawney shifted focus to him.

Meanwhile, Harry felt like he was tethered to Slughorn's velvet-robed button, being led wherever he went. Before he could gather his thoughts, he had circled the spacious office.

"Learn anything, Harry?" Slughorn lowered his voice, speaking with a confiding tone.

"Learn... what?" Harry asked breathlessly, feeling awful, like an exhibited monkey. Every person he saw wore fake smiles, even those he thought were familiar, like the Granger sisters, who now displayed insincere grins.

"Establish connections," Slughorn said, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. "I can see you lack in this aspect. Hasn't your godfather taught you these things?"

"Well, he's usually busy," Harry stammered.

"Shouldn't be. The last heir of the ancient Black family," Slughorn shook his head, then added earnestly, "Though it might be a bit forward, maybe I should write him a letter, the last scion of the ancient Black family..."

Harry stared, suspecting Professor Slughorn was trying to establish ties with the Black family.

At that moment, two people passed by from the corner they were avoiding. Slughorn agilely reached out with his plump arm, ending up empty-handed. Yet, he didn't stop; the momentum of his arm continued, encircling the person slightly farther away and forcibly pulling them over.

Harry internally applauded the spectacle, thinking this move could win the Quidditch Save of the Year.

On Felix Harp's shoulder, Valen patted his chest in relief, casting a sympathetic glance at Harry, who was cornered against the wall. Felix approached and stood opposite the immobilized Snape, a pleased smile curving his lips.

"Severus! Felix!" Slughorn called joyfully, tightly gripping Snape. "Almost missed you! I just took Harry for a stroll; no need to be polite. I heard you two are getting close to Harry—I was about to tell him, if he plans on entering politics—"

"I—don't—intend—to—enter—politics," Harry said irritably, struggling as Slughorn persisted in trying to bring him closer to Snape.

Slughorn raised his chubby finger. "But you want to be an Auror, don't you? Miller mentioned it to me. She thinks highly of you. But you can't hunt dark wizards forever, right? Severus, you should advise him."

Snape squinted, looking at Harry like he was examining a corpse. Calmly, he said, "I never knew I had this kind of influence on Potter."

"Don't say that, Severus." Slughorn smiled charmingly. Harry knew he had drunk quite a bit and was now in an excited state. "I saw him using your old textbook. Yes, I recognized your handwriting, especially messy. I criticized you back then..."

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