Chapter 12: Hogwarts Professors
The Hogwarts Express has arrived at the station.
Professor McGonagall went to the foyer to greet the students, and professors from other subjects arrived one after another, followed by another round of introductions and greetings.
“Good evening, young man!”
The one bellowing in a loud, rough voice was Silvanus Kettleburn, the current Care of Magical Creatures professor, missing half of each limb—truly short an arm and a leg—but it didn’t affect his joking around at all.
“You’re the new Muggle Studies professor, right!”
Professor Keltburn swung his empty sleeve: “Dumbledore is still the easygoing one; talented young people can teach directly!”
This old professor was overly enthusiastic; Melvin couldn’t get a word in at all.
“You’ve come at a good time!”
Kettleburn sighed with emotion: “When I was young, to stay on at Hogwarts as a teacher, I went through a full 62 retention inspections. Headmaster Armando Dippet always wanted to sack me; he didn’t like me when he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and only after Dumbledore took over as headmaster did my days settle down.”
“Actually, it’s because when Dumbledore took over, you only had one leg left and couldn’t keep causing trouble, and your temperament had steadied a bit, so Dumbledore felt at ease.”
Professor Flitwick next to him explained to Melvin: “Even so, every summer vacation he still goes to the reserve to see fire dragons, goes to the African wilderness to find graphorns; that hand was bitten off and torn by a five-footed beast.”
As Flitwick spoke, he turned to look at the professor, his gaze sweeping over his right hand, and his eyebrows immediately furrowed.
Kettleburn touched his nose with his right hand; the little finger was missing half a joint, the stump showing fresh pink flesh, looking like a recent injury.
He explained with an awkward smile: “Last month I went to Romania to see fire dragons; when observing a dragon egg up close, I got excited for a moment and couldn’t resist touching it twice, angering the brooding Australian Green… Later, when the keeper pulled the fire dragon away, the finger had already been eaten off.”
A tragic maiming incident came out of his mouth as if it were nothing, and those who didn’t know might think he’d just been scratched by a cat while playing with it.
“…”
The professors present were all somewhat speechless.
Melvin thought this Professor Keltburn must surely be from Gryffindor, but unexpectedly he was a Hufflepuff graduate.
Swaying unsteadily into the Great Hall was Divination professor Sybill Trelawney, wearing a pair of huge round-framed glasses with extremely thick lenses that made her eyes look distorted and bulging, nearly covering most of her face.
Sybill was a true descendant of the seer Cassandra Trelawney, but after several generations of dilution, no one could be sure how much of the prophetic gift had been passed down to her—not even the professor herself, who was half-believing and half-doubting.
The unverifiable prophetic gift, compared to the overflowing talents of the other elective professors, made this professor uneasy, constantly worrying she’d be swept out the door. Most of the time she stayed away from colleagues, holed up in the stuffy and cramped North Tower; her drinking was also a result of the bitterness in her heart that she couldn’t dispel.
She had her own little smarts, proficient in the tricks of those prophets.
To secure her teaching position at Hogwarts, she devised a teaching method like a Muggle charlatan’s.
On one hand, taking advantage of the students being young and unable to hide their thoughts, she found a few with the most obvious traits, then used their fear of misfortune and disaster to fabricate some seemingly profound prophecies, shaping herself into a mysterious seer.
On the other hand, she lowered the difficulty of after-class homework to attract more students seeking an easy ride to elect and participate.
But only a very few wizards knew that this professor truly inherited her ancestor Cassandra’s gift.
Sybill Trelawney carried the smell of alcohol, greeted a few people, then sat down and started drinking deeply.
“Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Levent.” Professor Setima Victor sat down beside her.
As a derivative branch of Divination, Professor Victor of Arithmancy was completely different from Trelawney; if Trelawney was a mumbling mysterious witch, Victor was a rational scholar, hair combed into a neat bun, deep gray robe with tightened cuffs, neat and capable, yet not as stern as Professor McGonagall.
“We all thought the one taking over Muggle Studies this year would be Charity Burbage, but Dumbledore had a new choice… Lucky Charity; I heard she’s already found work in London, officially starting her Muggle life.”
Ancient Runes professor Bathsheba Babbling took a sip of honey mead, her tone carrying a bit of envy: “Truly enviable; I also want to resign, go to Cairo in Egypt—I’ve heard they’ve excavated new ancient ruins there.”
“I want to go to the Yucatan Peninsula; the Mayan ancient wizards’ astrology and Arithmancy remain mysteries to this day.”
“What’s not good about being at school?”
Trelawney gulped down a mouthful of sherry, mumbling indistinctly: “I’d be willing to stay at Hogwarts forever…”
No one doubted her fervent devotion to Hogwarts, including the Flying lesson professor Madam Hooch, who arrived later, Madam Pomfrey the school matron, Madam Pince the librarian…
Melvin learned from Madam Pince that the package from Flourish and Blotts had arrived, placed in the storeroom next to the library; he could go check the book list when he had time.
A few minutes later, a pale-faced young man walked over, his head wrapped in a purple scarf, looking somewhat nervous: “Hello, Professor Levent. I’m Quirrell, Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrell.”
“Hello, Professor Quirrell.”
“…”
Perhaps self-conscious of the strong herbal smell on him, Quirrell just gave a simple greeting before hurriedly shrinking to a corner to find a seat, head down, glancing this way.
He seemed a bit neurotic.
Babbling said softly: “He used to be the Muggle Studies professor, but he wasn’t passionate about Muggle culture; instead, he was very interested in ancient magic and even audited my Runes classes. I heard Runes are mainly applied in alchemy and hard to wield powerful magic, so he gave it up.
“I heard last year he found some trace of ancient magic and went adventuring in Albania over summer vacation; looks like he got injured.”
“…”
Melvin looked at Quirrell nervously huddled in the corner and found it amusing.
The current Voldemort was just a weak wraith, without form or magic power, in a state similar to a ghost, only able to sustain consciousness by feeding on animal blood.
If not willingly and cooperatively, let alone adult wizards, he couldn’t even control the lowliest goblin.
Quirrell went to Albania seeking powerful dark magic and ended up finding Voldemort in this state; not only did he not see his true face, but he was bewitched, willingly dropping his defenses, opening his soul, yielding the most important part of his mind for Voldemort to possess, offering his body as a flesh puppet.
Those herbs were to treat the corruption brought by the deathly aura infecting his flesh.
He wondered if this Defence Against the Dark Arts professor would regret it.
“Listen, they’ve arrived.”
“Gurgle…”
Before he could sort out his thoughts, the students had reached the foyer; Professor Flitwick reminded them, and faintly the sound of Thestral carriages slowly moving outside the castle could be heard.
Dumbledore also arrived belatedly.
…
Night fell over Hogwarts.
The first-year students gathered in front of the oak door.
“The Sorting is a very important ceremony…
“The names of the four houses are: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff…
“At the end of the year, the house with the highest score wins the House Cup.”
Hermione trotted quickly right behind Professor McGonagall, ears perked, wishing to memorize every word the professor said, following the stone-paved floor to the antechamber to wait, but after listening intently all the way, she still didn’t hear the specific Sorting process.
Professor McGonagall glanced back at the little witch and pursed her lips: “Wait here, please keep quiet; I’ll come fetch you soon.”
With that, she turned and left.
Hermione quietly exhaled; the professor’s stern and tense expression had made breathing not quite smooth.
“What exactly is the Sorting ceremony, Ron? How can they ensure accurate assignment?”
“It seems like some kind of test; my brother Fred said it’s very dangerous, but I think he was scaring me.”
“…”
Hearing the two boys nearby talking, Hermione pursed her lips and began silently reciting the spells she’d memorized, Miranda Goshawk’s《Standard Spells: Elementary》, which she’d read and recited cover to cover before term started.
The students chattered noisily, ghosts passed through walls scaring people; here everyone completely forgot the professor’s instruction to keep quiet.
When Professor McGonagall returned, the first-year students lined up and entered the Great Hall of this magic school, unable to hold back little gasps of awe.
Thousands of candles floated in midair, golden platters and goblets gleaming on the four long tables, lighting the Great Hall brightly.
The strong light made them unable to open their eyes, yet they couldn’t bear to close them, so they looked up and averted their gaze, only to find even the pitch-black dome twinkling with starlight.
“Merlin’s socks…”
“Jesus’s leather boots…”
Hermione couldn’t contain her excitement, whispering throatily: “Magic has been cast here; it looks just like the sky outside. I read about it in《Hogwarts: A History》.”
Harry and Ron next to her exchanged a glance but said nothing.
From the train carriage to the castle Great Hall, she’d said similar things hundreds of times; compared to those astonishing pieces of knowledge, this little witch’s incessant voice and tone really made one not want to engage.
Hermione didn’t mind; she was focused on controlling the anxiety and tension in her heart.
The shabby pointed wizard hat in front suddenly split open a wide seam like a grinning mouth and began singing in a raspy voice: “I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, superior to all your hats…”
So the Sorting didn’t require any test; just putting on the hat.
“When I call your name, come forward: Hannah Abo!”
“…”
When you’re extremely nervous, time always feels to pass very slowly, but when your mood calms, the earlier long time feels like just a blink of an eye—that’s Einstein’s theory of relativity.
When Hermione came back to herself, she was already sitting at the Gryffindor long table.
Only now could she settle her mind, listening to the conversations of classmates around her to gather information while properly looking at the professors at the high table.
Closest was Hagrid, the gamekeeper who picked them up;
The head seat was Headmaster Dumbledore, whose photograph appeared in many books and materials;
To the left were the four deans; the Professor McGonagall just now was theirs for Gryffindor;
To the right were the elective professors.
“Divination, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes…”
Hermione’s face flushed, eyes sparkling; she was very interested in all these courses: “And… Muggle Studies?”
She knew Muggle was what wizards called non-magical people.
That professor was very different from the others, looking much younger, his style of dress clashing with the castle.
A neat deep blue suit, white Windsor-collar shirt, tied with a silver-gray silk tie, black short hair simply combed, a pair of pitch-black eyes calm and gentle, surveying everywhere just like her.
Too Muggle, not magical at all.
“Third year to take electives…”
…
“Harry Potter.”
“Gryffindor!”
Amid cheers resounding through the Great Hall, the boy drawing all eyes walked to the lions’ dean’s table, steps slightly staggering.
Probably a bit hypoglycemic.
Melvin also glanced a few times, but he cared more about the reactions of the professors present, lifting his wine glass, eyes subtly glancing sideways.
Dumbledore’s behind-the-scenes maneuvering succeeded, plan proceeding smoothly, beaming with smiles.
Quirrell kept his head down, quietly observing Potter while his lips moved faintly, a subtle curve, looking like he was muttering to himself.
The most interesting was Snape; his gaze had been fixed on Potter, but whether he noticed Quirrell also watching or not, he immediately turned his head and gave a low warning.
“You’d better behave; don’t think no one has noticed you…”
“I don’t understand what you mean, Professor Snape.”
“…”
Melvin looked at the gradually lively Great Hall and couldn’t help feeling a bit emotional: someone designing a Savior training plan, someone seeing the child of an old acquaintance, someone plotting for the Philosopher’s Stone—a grand and spectacular drama about to unfold.
Suddenly feeling a subtle mood; clearly he’d studied at Ilvermorny, yet he was more familiar with this Hogwarts Castle.
Sigh, at this point, time to eat first.
…
“Mm…”
The last bit of chocolate mousse was popped into Hagrid’s mouth; no new food appeared on the platters, the clinking of metal knives and forks gradually stopping.
“Ahem…”
Dumbledore cleared his throat, his bright sea-blue eyes sweeping around, the Great Hall falling silent again: “Now that everyone has eaten and drunk their fill, I have a few more words to say.
“First, let us welcome Professor Levent, who will teach Muggle Studies.”
Warm applause rang out in the Great Hall; for this young and handsome professor, the students generally welcomed him, especially the third-year and above little witches who had elected Muggle Studies, clapping extra enthusiastically.
“And Professor Quirrell has kindly consented to take on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post.”
This time there was hardly any applause, sparse at best; Professor Quirrell hadn’t left a good impression before.
“As the new term begins, I have a few cautions to give you:
“First, the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students; Mr. Filch the caretaker asks me to remind you not to cast spells in the corridors between classes; Quidditch player tryouts will be held next week… and finally—”
Dumbledore raised his voice: “I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to meet an unfortunate accident, a painful death, should not enter the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor.”
Melvin always felt he wasn’t announcing cautions, but rather:
Task clue updated; please proceed to the destination promptly to check.
