Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 287 Street Encounter
"More than?"

Harry could make out the figure by the candlelight. The face that was leaning closer had big, tennis ball-sized eyes, a long, pointed nose, slender hands and feet, grayish-green skin, and a thick scarf wrapped around its thin neck, making it look a bit comical.

“Yes, sir, it’s me.” Dobby’s high-pitched voice echoed in the ward.

"I remember... I think I fell off the court?"

Harry moved his arms and legs. Apart from some soreness in his back from lying down for a long time and a slight headache, he had no other injuries. His bones were intact, and his knees and ankles were still flexible.

He rubbed his aching temples and breathed a slight sigh of relief.

When he lost consciousness and fell on the field, he happened to be chasing the rising Golden Snitch. At a height of several hundred feet, if it weren't for Principal Dumbledore's curse, he would probably have been scattered like a broom.

"Ms. Pomfrey has examined you. You have no injuries. You may have a slight headache, but that's because hundreds of Dementors were watching you at close range at the same time, causing your soul to tremble. Rest well and you'll be fine."

Dobby muttered under his breath, wiping Harry's forehead with a sponge as he sighed, "Harry Potter's in the hospital again because of a match."

"Again?" Harry repeated.

"Harry Potter didn't know me when I was in first year, but I heard from Lord Malfoy that last year and this year, I witnessed you getting injured and going to the hospital every year during the Quidditch match."

Dobby stared with his bulging eyes. "Dobby reminds Harry Potter again, oh sir, why don't you give up this dangerous sport?"

Harry paused for a moment, then smiled. "You don't understand, Dobby. My teammates need me, and Gryffindor needs victory."

With Dobby nagging beside him, he felt much more relaxed. He propped himself up from the pillow, took the sponge, and started working on it himself.

“Even if Harry Potter played, Gryffindor still lost.” Dobby scoffed. “That Malfoy caught the Golden Snitch in the end, and his players cheered towards the stands and called you a coward. Mr. Weasley was furious and almost got into a fight with them.”

Harry put the sponge back on the tray and patted his forehead.

His memory was still somewhat confused. He remembered seeing Professor Levent summon the Guardian before he lost consciousness, and his two companions rushing towards him after he fell to the ground. As for the whereabouts of the Golden Snitch and the outcome of the competition, he couldn't remember clearly.

He was determined not to lose a single game in the remaining matches and to turn the tide in the college's points deficit.

Where are Ron and the others?

"Back to the Gryffindor Tower, it's almost lights out."

Dobby refilled the glass and handed it over. "Mrs. Pomfrey said Harry Potter wasn't hurt, he just fainted after encountering the Dementors. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger said it's an old problem and there's nothing to worry about."

Harry had a heart attack, and he did sound like a coward, fainting whenever he encountered a Dementor.

"I still need to learn the Guardian Charm as soon as possible."

I vaguely remember seeing the long-horned water serpent guardian before I lost consciousness. Its body was wrapped around the entire stadium. Even if there were hundreds of Dementors, it could just shake its tail and sweep them away like fallen leaves.

Harry took a sip of water from his glass, looked up, and then remembered to ask, "What are you doing here?"

"This is Dobby's job. Someone has asked Dobby to take care of Harry Potter."

"..."

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the roof of the school infirmary, not paying much attention to the implication in the words, assuming that the headmaster or a professor had asked him to look after him.

Dobby had washed his face and drunk some water, but he just stared at Harry lying in bed, clearly not interested in going to the toilet or eating. He blinked, feeling a bit lost and couldn't think of anything to do.

"Would Harry Potter like something to eat?"

"No need, I'm not hungry yet."

"Is Harry Potter going to the restroom?"

"No, I just want to lie down right now."

"..."

Dobby stared into Harry's green eyes, paused for a moment, and then asked, "What does Harry Potter want for Christmas? Is there anything he's been wanting to buy but hasn't yet?"

The sudden change of topic surprised Harry, yet he also found it somewhat amusing; the house-elves' train of thought was just too unpredictable!

"What, you want to buy me a Christmas present? Isn't your salary meant to buy yourself freedom? Don't you want your freedom anymore?"

"Freedom cannot be bought; paying off debts has nothing to do with freedom..."

Dobby looked at Harry intently and relayed the story in a serious and methodical manner, clearly demonstrating a level of education not typical of a house-elf.

"So that's it..."

Harry looked thoughtful. When Dobby mentioned these things last year, neither he nor Hermione had thought that the meaning of redeeming freedom to repay debts had been made clear by others.

Upon closer examination, it does make a lot of sense.

"Professor Levent assigned you the task so that you could figure it out yourself. Now that someone else is giving you the answer directly, is it still your answer?"

"..."

Dobby paused for a moment, then looked conflicted again.

After pondering for a long time, I gave up on finding the answer myself and chose to complete the request first: "Never mind all that for now, what kind of gift do you want?"

Harry chuckled and said casually, "Alright then, I'd like a new broom, preferably with a Firebolt."

"Fire bolts?"

“Price: 2800 Galleons”

"That is, 47600 Westcos and 1380400 Nats..."

Dobby silently calculated the difference using his own weekly salary and was immediately filled with respect.

……

The Muggle Studies Office is located on the third floor of the castle.

"Dong dong dong..."

A clear, melodious voice came from outside the door: "Professor, it's me. I'm here for a tutoring session."

Melvin sat behind his desk, lightly tapping the surface twice with his fingers. The lock clicked open, and the door swung open silently, revealing Hermione's flushed face behind it, her house robes still stained with dried mud. The little witch had gotten a bit disheveled watching the games during the day and hadn't had time to wash up. She had waited outside the ward for ages, but hadn't received any news of Harry waking up, so she had to come to class by herself.

Melvin was relieved that Hermione was still thinking about tutoring. "Oh, it's Hermione. You've come at the right time. I've prepared a time-out punishment for you."

The little witch's eyes widened instantly, her surprised expression truly adorable.

"Why would I be locked up?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "Shouldn't it be Neville who got locked up for losing the password list? Or George and Fred? They've been messing around with new prank gadgets lately. Is it because I insulted Malfoy during the day for winning unfairly?"

"You'll find out in a while. For now, just accept your punishment."

Melvin couldn't very well reveal the mystery now and tell her that it was because her pet violated school rules by helping outsiders sneak into the castle, and that only the headmaster could be the riddle teller.

He took a stack of documents from the drawer under the table, pushed them in front of Hermione, and glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall:
"There are still two hours until lights out. Here is nearly two hundred years of information about Patronus Charms in the library. I need you to organize the valuable content and remove the fabricated fairy tales and the old wizard's boastful travel experiences."

"Information on the Guardian Charm... is it for teaching purposes?"

Hermione had a vague idea of ​​the purpose of the data and felt slightly excited.

Melvin nodded: "Because of the accident on the pitch, Headmaster Dumbledore asked Professor Lupin to mentor Harry, hoping he would master the Patronus Charm as soon as possible. Professor Flitwick suggested that we shouldn't just focus on Harry alone and proposed adding Patronus Charm content to the Duel Club's curriculum, hoping that all students would be able to deal with the threat of Dementors."

"Then I became a guest teaching assistant." He sighed sadly. "The Duel Club is a teaching program for all students in the school. It's different from a tutoring class that only teaches two people. It requires more attention to details and basic knowledge."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she recalled the earthly serpent encircling the stadium. Professor Levent, who lectured on Patronus, was indeed very authoritative and persuasive.

"So the professor conscripted me to do manual labor, making me prepare your lesson plans?"

Melvin nodded calmly, without the slightest shame: "If you hadn't yet mastered the Guardian, I would have directly put you on stage as a teaching assistant."

……

"We are gathered here today not to grieve the passing of a mouse, but to celebrate the extraordinary life of an ordinary mouse."

"Banban is never the kind of mouse that stands in the spotlight. It can't sing like a toad, nor can it do important work like an owl."

"But it always silently keeps me company in my pocket, listening to my complaints, whether it's about homework or teenage troubles, it's always there..."

Ron stood under the branches of a beech tree on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, his right fist pressed against his chest. In front of him was a small pit that had just been dug. The ground of the Forbidden Forest was very muddy after the rainstorm, and the pit was filled with mud.

Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid stood behind him, their expressions serious, their eyes fixed on the chocolate frog packaging in the pit.

Hagrid originally wanted to carve a wooden box to make a coffin, but Ron said that Scabbers liked candy boxes and could find peace in them.

"Banban's contribution is enormous! It has always been by my side, helping me through those difficult days and nights."

Ron prayed for Scabbers, his eyes reddening. "That cold-hearted Percy, Scabbers had been with him for so many years, and he actually refused to attend the funeral because of a date. Scabbers will haunt him even as a ghost!"

“We will not let them get away with it!” Harry, the guest of honor at the funeral, echoed.

"Let the funeral end here. I'm sure Banban wouldn't want to see you wallowing in grief. Go to Hogsmeade and have a few butterbeers; it'll make you feel better."

Hagrid has plenty of experience in this area, and his advice is very valuable, whether it's arranging funerals for animals or drowning his sorrows in pubs.

Half an hour later, the three pushed open the oak door with three brooms. Behind the counter stood the tavern owner, Ms. Rosmerta, who was mixing drinks. She was voluptuous and graceful, and her purple robe accentuated the charm of a middle-aged witch.

A group of middle-aged male wizards sat in front of the counter, including the short, stout figure who often appeared in the newspapers, the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

"The Minister of Magic is drinking at the pub... Shouldn't he be sitting in his office reviewing documents?"

Ron pursed his lips, his gaze falling on the beautiful female boss, feeling that the grief of losing his pet had lessened considerably.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, and out of some unspoken understanding, quietly went to sit down diagonally opposite the counter, right behind the minister.

Without attracting Fudge's attention, you can eavesdrop on their conversation.

……

11:00 AM, Hogsmeade.

Snape hurried across the muddy path with his suitcase, rushing back to the castle from the village. The Potions Professor, with a cold face, walked with a brisk pace, his clothes fluttering and the hem of his robes rustling in the wind.

Professor McGonagall casually mentioned that the headmaster should be responsible for purchasing teaching materials for their respective subjects, thus diverting the vice-principal's duties. The potion-making task fell to him, as the seven years of Hogwarts required a great deal of money for students to brew potions.

This wasn't the first time he'd been in charge of potion procurement. The potion master was familiar with market prices and used his expertise to get a discount from the pharmacy owner. The whole process wasn't difficult, but it was tedious and annoying.

The pharmacy owner kept complaining about why the professor had changed; it used to be Professor Levent.

“That Melvin guy…” Snape thought to himself with disdain.

It was the second day of the Quidditch tournament, and Hogsmeade's weekend activities were proceeding as usual. Students could be seen in the shops lining the streets. Recalling Slytherin's victory in the first tournament, he felt confident about winning this year's House Cup and was in a fairly good mood.

The village entrance is in a relatively remote location, and the shops gradually become sparse. After passing the Honey Duke Candy Shop, only the dilapidated signboard of the Pig Head Bar remains.

Students are not accepted here. There are only a few scattered patrons of different races and builds, all wearing similar hoods or masks. There are also a few wizards in cloaks who look ill-intentioned.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced around the tavern when suddenly a short, stout figure darted out, came up to him, and shook his hand: "Professor Snape, it's a pleasure to meet you. We've met before. Would you like to have a drink sometime?"

Judging from the voice, it was a middle-aged male wizard, wearing a hood that obscured his face.

Snape was about to refuse when his gaze fell on the short, stout middle-aged wizard. Suddenly, he noticed some features, stared at the brim of the hat for a few seconds, narrowed his eyes slightly, and a cold glint flashed in them.

He nodded with a cold smile, as if he couldn't refuse the invitation, and went into the tavern. He went to a corner and ordered a glass of Flaming Whisky, but just held it in his hand and shook it without any intention of tasting it.

"Perhaps Professor Snape doesn't know me, and we don't need to know him, but I have some information here..."

"Alright, Peter, this isn't a reunion party for alumni."

Snape interrupted him coldly, “Who do you expect to fool with this shoddy disguise? Not to mention that the stench you’ve been wearing since your school days has never faded. Even after more than a decade, it’s still unbearably foul and hard to ignore.”

Peter Pettigrew froze in his seat.

After a moment of silence, he slowly extended his hand, missing a finger, and removed his hood, revealing a fat, pale face with an unpleasant smile on it:

“I’ve forgotten. You had a good memory back in school, and now you’re a Potions professor. You can distinguish herbs by smell and recognize someone as insignificant as me. What do you say, my classmate, Mr. Severus Snape?”

(End of this chapter)