Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 240 is another psychological counseling class.

In the morning, at the Leaky Cauldron bar, on a square table in the corner.

The young elective professor and the students about to enter their third year sat facing each other. Melvin ordered butterbeer and fish and chips, but didn't touch the fish, just ate the chips with ketchup slowly. The pub owner stood alone behind the counter, pursing his lips.

The conversation between the teacher and student had been going on for half an hour, with Harry doing almost all of the talking and Melvin not offering any comments.

“It’s been like this ever since I can remember. They’re constantly reminding me that I’m not a child of that family, that I’m a foster relative, that I’m an unwanted child,” Harry said dejectedly. “I’m much happier in Diagon Alley, and the Leaky Cauldron is much more comfortable than the Dursleys’ house.”

His words carried a hint of loss and sadness. Since leaving No. 4 Privet Drive, Harry had experienced the panic of homelessness and the bewilderment of having nowhere to go. He himself did not know how he boarded the Knight Bus that night.

The student, who had just turned thirteen, was not mature enough. After such a dramatic change, he could not calm down. Although he was doing well at the Leaky Cauldron, it was not until he met the professor he could completely trust and confided in him about his recent experiences that he was able to relax.

"I don't know what kind of people the Dursleys are, and I'm not in a position to judge other people's family relationships."

Melvin said calmly, picking up a piece of fries and dipping it in ketchup. "Besides, my opinion doesn't matter. You are the main person in this relationship, and only your thoughts can affect its future."

Harry took a vicious bite of fries: "My thought is that I don't want to go back to Privet Drive during summer and winter breaks anymore. If I could, I'd rather live in the Leaky Cauldron forever."

"Don't rush to conclusions. Before that, you need to think clearly about the answers to some questions," Melvin said, savoring his drink slowly.

"what is the problem?"

Are you a Dursleyan?

“I…” Harry immediately wanted to deny it, but what came out wasn’t so straightforward, “I’m their nephew, and Aunt Petunia is my mother’s sister.”

"So you're just a relative of Penny Dursley."

Melvin nodded, picked up his beer from the table, and took a sip. "What does Aunt Penny do for a living?"

"Why are you asking this?" Harry was a little confused. "Aunt Petunia doesn't work. She's a full-time housewife who does housework every day."

"So can I assume that your aunt is a housewife with no income and is entirely supported by her husband?"

"Yes."

"So of the three Dursleys, Vernon and Dudley are not actually related to you by blood, and they have no obligation to raise you. The only relative, Petunia, is a housewife with no income. She may have an obligation, but she is not able to raise you."

Listening to the professor's analysis, Harry felt a crack appear in some of his firm beliefs: his disgust for Dudley, his resentment towards Vernon, his grievances against Petunia, and his dissatisfaction with the Dursleys.

“I don’t know what your Uncle Vernon and Cousin Dudley are thinking. Aunt Penny seems to be caught in the middle. The fact that she raised you to this day instead of handing you over to an orphanage or church is probably because Penny persuaded her husband. What do you think?”

“Hmm…” Harry nodded hesitantly.

The Muggle Studies professor, holding a French fry, calmly analyzed the motivation: "In the adult world, it's hard to say that a housewife without a source of income has any say. If she sides with outsiders, she'll be seen as an outsider herself... What can she do? She has to stand on the Dursleys' side to prevent her husband and son from kicking her nephew out."

“But they…” Harry’s argument lacked the confidence he had at the beginning.

"They are indeed abusing you."

Melvin didn't say "raising someone is a favor and should be forgiven." Childhood trauma and physical and mental pain are real. Even if these pains have passed and the person involved may not intend to hold a grudge, it is very annoying for outsiders to casually advise forgiveness.

It is a fact that the Dursleys did not raise Harry well.

Often, the pain of childhood is more unforgettable.

After finishing the last piece of fries, Melvin said to the student who had run away from home: "This world is just that complicated. It's hard to summarize how people get along with each other from a single perspective. You have to learn to think about other people's thoughts from multiple dimensions, try to handle these relationships, and maintain these relationships to operate smoothly according to certain social norms until you can be completely independent."

Harry hesitated, remaining silent, unsure of what to say.

Melvin wiped his hands with a tissue on the table, ending the counseling session, and changed the subject: "I just got back to London not long ago and haven't booked a hotel yet. How are the accommodations at the Leaky Cauldron? I'd like to stay there if it's suitable."

"Not bad...not bad."

Harry's head was still spinning; he was feeling a little dizzy.

"How is the hygiene? Do mice crawl on your pillow at night?"

“No, the rooms are very clean.” Harry, having shaken off his troubles with his family background, began to describe the accommodations to the professor. “They clean every day, and Diagon Alley is right behind here. The shopkeepers and owners there are all very nice…”

After staying there for a few days, he was actually somewhat grateful to Minister Fudge. He didn't seem as bad as he had originally thought; at least Fudge had made him feel at ease.

"Minister Fouché wasn't as bad as I thought. He didn't hold it against me for violating the spell, waived my fine, and let me settle here. Everything else is fine, but he's too inflexible. He wouldn't even help me sign the consent form, saying that rules are rules..."

Harry was a little confused. "He's the Minister for Magic. What rule could he possibly be violating by approving a junior wizard to go to Hogsmeade for the weekend?"

“He’s not worried about breaking the rules. Fudge just wants you to stay in a safe place and avoid contact with strange wizards. He’s worried that Blake will come knocking on your door.”

Melvin cautioned, “For forcibly promoting Umbridge, Fudge has been under considerable controversy lately. Members of Parliament from Wizengamo even want to remove him from office. Black escaped Azkaban during his term, and many officials and wizard residents are even more dissatisfied with him. He doesn’t want anything to happen to you, the boy who survived so many disasters.”

Harry paused for a moment, then muttered to himself, "So that's how it is. No wonder Fudge let me go."

At this point, he seemed puzzled: "Why do so many people think that Black will come looking for me? Stan and Ern on the Knight Bus, Mr. Florin at the ice cream shop... they all look at me strangely when they mention Black. Does Black really think I'm the one? Just because of Voldemort, his master?"

Melvin paused briefly, then said carefully, "Like I just said, don't limit yourself to a single perspective; learn to think in multiple dimensions."

Harry noticed that the professor's gaze had also become subtle. He couldn't decipher the complex emotions within it, but he vaguely sensed that the professor's gaze when mentioning Black was different from that of other wizards: "You mean, Black won't come looking for me?"

"No, he will definitely come after you."

"Wasn't he doing it for Voldemort?"

"Wait a minute, Harry, let me think about how to tell you."

Melvin wasn't going to reveal the answer right now; he was waiting to see the show. However, he wouldn't distort the facts or deliberately mislead anyone. "It all started with your parents' classmate year."

“Back then, there was a very famous little group in Gryffindor: Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, and your father, James Potter. They were very good friends, doing everything together—doing outrageous things in class, showing off in the hallways. This kind of friendship from their school days lasted until graduation.” Harry’s mouth dropped open, his face full of surprise.

"At that time, the Death Eaters were rampaging and hunting down wizards who opposed Voldemort. Your parents escaped their pursuit three times until you were born. As a newborn, you were too weak to adapt to the long and arduous life of the run and needed a safe place to stay. That's where the Faithful Charm came in handy."

Harry missed Hermione terribly at that moment. If she were here, she could immediately explain to him the function of the Faithful Charm.

Instead of staring blankly at the professor and asking, "What kind of magic is the 'Loyalty Spell'?"

"A defensive magic spell that can permanently hide a specific secret in the soul of the person keeping the secret, ensuring that the secret cannot be discovered by others unless the person keeps the secret and reveals it intentionally. It is often used to protect the safety of important locations or people."

Melvin looked into his deep green eyes. "In the official announcement, your parents chose Sirius Black as their confidant. You know the rest."

Harry sat there, stunned.

Of course he knew: Voldemort had come knocking, his parents had both died, leaving him, the boy who had miraculously survived.

"Black leaked it." Harry murmured absentmindedly, somewhat at a loss, and hurriedly picked up the beer on the table and took a sip.

No wonder those people looked at him strangely, no wonder everyone thought Blake would come after him; he was an accomplice in the deaths of his parents, and his blood feud.

Harry felt a burning sensation rise from his stomach, the bubbly beer filling his throat with a pungent aroma that burned his throat and made him feel pain all the way to his heart. He completely forgot he was in a tavern. In addition to fear, anger and hatred surged up, making his blood boil and making him want to kill his enemy with his own hands.

"Boom...boom..."

Melvin tapped his fingers on the table, the sound snapping Harry out of his daze: "Do you remember what I just told you?"

"We can't limit ourselves to a single perspective; we need to think and speculate from multiple angles." Harry snapped out of his reverie, repeating blankly, unsure why he was bringing this up now.

"Just remember."

Melvin observed his condition and found that his eyes were slightly unfocused. It was probably because he had received too much information in a short period of time, and his still-developing brain could not process it all, causing a slight malfunction. Otherwise, there was nothing wrong.

He planned to let Harry calm down by himself, while he got up to go to the front desk to settle the bill with Old Tom, book a room, and inquire about Azkaban's situation.

The butterbeer I just ordered hadn't been finished yet, and Old Tom hadn't brought any new drinks. He briefly inquired about Harry's condition, and when Melvin recounted the old story, he didn't know what to say. He sighed and then didn't mention it again.

Melvin, holding his wine glass, asked, "What measures has the Ministry of Magic taken after Black escaped Azkaban? Have they sent Dementors to hunt him down?"

“Aurors and Dementors are patrolling, and they’ve made us post notices and wanted posters.”

In which areas are Dementors being hunted?

"What do you ask for this?"

Old Tom looked at him suspiciously, thinking that he shouldn't do anything illegal, considering his professorship. "It's mainly around North Sea. I heard they're planning to raid Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley again, but Dementors are annoying, and it wasn't long after the last raid, so it was rejected by Wizengamo."

"The area around the North Sea... is quite far from London."

"It's not far for a wizard, is it?"

"It's too far for Dementors; they can't use Floo Powder or Apparate."

Why do you care about them?

"nothing……"

Melvin shook his head, his tone nonchalant. He was concerned about the Dementors' whereabouts, obviously wanting to capture one for research.

Bastian's ever-growing strange power requires the healing of Dementors. The magic bestowed upon him by his horned water serpent is similar to that of the Dementors. He had this idea last time in Azkaban, but unfortunately, the Dementors were organized and Tonks was around, so there was little opportunity.

In addition, Dementors have very peculiar forms, and there is currently no way to contain them discreetly.

A comprehensive plan needs to be developed for this matter, and it is necessary to consult with professionals.

Melvin took a sip of his butterbeer, a thoughtful look on his face.

I chatted with old Tom, and time passed little by little. After finishing the rest of the butterbeer, it was almost noon.

As the tavern gradually filled up with customers, Old Tom was busy greeting guests and looking after the family members who were helping in the kitchen. Melvin also learned about various recent events and began to organize his plans in his mind.

Harry sat at the corner table, his eyes still somewhat blank.

Among the patrons were some strange old witches, all at least seventy years old, drinking sherry from small glasses, and others smoking long pipes, the bluish smoke somewhat choking. Occasionally, someone would notice the scar on his forehead and cast a scrutinizing glance, but perhaps because of Blake's escape, no one came up to speak to him.

The professor's advice still echoed in his ears, but he couldn't understand its deeper meaning. He only wanted revenge for his parents and to kill Sirius Black.

However, he believed he was no match for a vicious black wizard, and thus became worried about his own safety.

Various thoughts intertwined and tangled in my mind, like a nest woven by an eight-eyed giant spider, a tangled mess that I couldn't sort out.

Harry couldn't think of an answer, so he got up and went to the counter: "Professor, what should I do? Can you give me some advice?"

"suggestion……"

Melvin thought for a moment, "I suggest you write a letter to your aunt and uncle, telling them about your current situation, and don't forget to attach the consent form for the weekend activities."

Harry paused, realizing that wasn't what he wanted to ask. He hadn't even considered the Dursleys' affairs for the past half hour. The words, however, were on the tip of his tongue:

Will they give me their autographs?

"Who knows."

(End of this chapter)