Chapter 37: Professor Mcgonagall’s Deception【please Keep Reading】
Hogwarts, as a closed-management school, has its living supplies for all teachers and students centrally procured by house-elves, with additional festival supplies purchased for major holidays. The long-term and stable orders attract Hogsmeade merchants to compete for cooperation.
Payment settlement time is not fixed, generally around half a month, with an account period that is neither long nor short, but fortunately Hogwarts never defaults.
The deputy headmaster Minerva McGonagall personally checks on-site, and occasionally brings gifts made by professors, with Professor Snape’s potions being the most popular.
This time, accompanying the deputy headmaster for payment settlement is a new face.
A young wizard in a neat long trench coat, with a friendly smile, who can even give useful business advice during casual chat; Hogsmeade’s merchants immediately accepted this Professor Levent, who just started onboarding this year.
Around four-thirty in the afternoon, the deputy headmaster and the new professor finished work and returned to Hogwarts, just walking through the school gate.
“Melvin, thank you for accompanying me to Hogsmeade. I must say, you performed perfectly today.”
Professor McGonagall smiled on her face, extremely satisfied with this new colleague; she had lost count of how many discounts Melvin had negotiated, far better than a certain superior who only knew how to slack off and shirk.
“I’m glad to help you, Professor McGonagall. It also broadened my knowledge.” Melvin smiled back.
“You’ve been at Hogwarts for almost a month. How do you feel? Are you adapting?”
“Better than good.”
“How are you getting along with the students? Is teaching going smoothly?”
“Very smoothly…”
Listening to Melvin talk about that unique teaching method, Professor McGonagall felt somewhat helpless. As a teacher with decades of experience, this teaching method of finishing a term’s courses in one week seemed like dark magic to her.
But she also admitted that, judging from the test scores, this strange teaching method was effective.
In a few more years, this Professor Levent would be more steady.
The path extended toward the castle, the sun setting in the west, dyeing the originally somber castle and grounds in orange-yellow, making the whole school seem more lively.
On the grounds, students not in class were chasing and playing; lower years students saw Professor McGonagall approaching and immediately lowered their heads and ran off hurriedly, their bouncing steps showing no awe, more like deliberate mischief, stopping after running far to continue frolicking.
Older students all knew the deputy headmaster was stern on the outside but kind at heart; not only did they not run, some taking Muggle Studies class even deliberately came over to greet when they saw Professor Levent nearby.
Walking along, the closer to the Quidditch Pitch, the louder the sounds of laughter and play.
This afternoon was flying lesson for first-year students, not over yet; they were practicing on the pitch.
In a corner of the pitch, a small figure stood at the edge of the grounds, disheveled brown curly hair scattered, head tilted up staring at classmates flying in circles above the pitch.
Her expression unclear, her back view somewhat lonely.
Melvin couldn’t help but look a few more times.
Professor McGonagall followed his gaze: “That child…”
The next moment, the calm pitch suddenly erupted in enthusiastic cheers; Harry Potter did another flip, Gryffindor students on broomsticks high-fived in celebration, ground onlookers also cheered, only that little witch ignored by everyone.
The only Lumbardons who wanted to approach saw no one else going over and didn’t dare himself, hesitating in place.
Everyone else cheering and celebrating, only the little witch out of place; brooms sweeping through the air, the wind lifting her robe and hair, her small figure standing ramrod straight, all alone.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, still feeling sorry for her house’s student, and walked toward the little witch.
Melvin followed behind Professor McGonagall.
Hermione Granger looked up at their flying postures, her tense little face full of stubbornness, eyes wide open unblinking, comparing the flying skills in the book with their movements, just about to simulate in her mind when she noticed two figures approaching from the side.
Under the afterglow of the sunset dusk, the two professors slowly approached and stood beside her.
One was her own dean Professor McGonagall, in a proper black robe, lips slightly pursed, looking at her with gentle eyes.
The other was Professor Levent of Muggle Studies, who really looked very young, about the same as seventh-year students.
In a long trench coat, evening wind tousling the collar, obscuring part of his facial contours, a few strands of black hair blown messy by the wind hanging at his forehead, indescribably good-looking, a pair of pitch-black eyes similarly gentle, lowering his gaze to look at her.
The two professors suddenly came over…
Could it be last time’s nighttime castle stroll was discovered?
Was she going to be expelled from school?
Hermione’s expression stiffened, face paling, head tilted up meeting the two professors’ gazes, eyes showing some panic.
Professor McGonagall didn’t understand what was with little witches nowadays; she was a bit strict in class, but not like Severus, scaring them speechless just by approaching.
Thinking of today’s date, her gaze softened, and she squatted down to look the little witch in the eye: “Granger, why aren’t you practicing?”
“…”
Not about the nighttime castle stroll.
Hermione came back to herself and stayed silent.
Today’s flying lesson was paired practice; considering many students had just learned to take off and were unskilled at landing, needing a partner nearby for supervision.
Unfortunately, the number of students in class was odd; paired up two by two, she was the one left over.
Hermione knew why she was the one left over.
Her four roommates always huddled together in spare time chatting about all sorts of strange topics—gossip about Professor Snape and the Malfoy family, Professor Levent’s attire, Professor Flitwick’s little mustache… Hermione thought these topics wasted time; she’d rather go to the library to read a couple more pages for fun, and after half a month, her roommates stopped pulling her into talks.
And the boys distanced her probably because during today’s charms class, she couldn’t help correcting their improper casting gestures.
Actually, Madam Hooch had anticipated this; the original plan was to personally supervise Hermione’s practice, but the boys flew too fast and reckless, so to prevent another accident like last time, she had to watch the boys’ side first.
So she was left here.
Melvin glanced at the pitch, roughly understanding, and seeing the little witch didn’t want to answer, didn’t expose it.
He also squatted down: “You don’t like flying lesson, right? Compared to courses relying on brains, flying lesson is indeed boring. Anyway, no examination, so if you don’t practice well, so be it.”
Hermione didn’t know how to reply and continued silent, a flicker of secret delight in her heart.
Flying lesson doesn’t have an exam, huh.
Professor McGonagall: “…”
“Melvin, how can you say that? Flying lesson isn’t some irrelevant course; Quidditch culture has profound influence in the wizarding world…”
Professor McGonagall looked at the little witch: “Quidditch is fun, and flying is fun once you master the technique; it needs practice. It’s normal to find it hard at first; practice slowly and you’ll master it. I was bad at flying when I was in school too.”
“Professor, you’re lying.”
“？？”
