Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 348 The Principal's Speech
Sunday evening, April 17th.

With the Easter holidays over and the school year officially coming to a close, Hogwarts' kitchen prepared a sumptuous dinner, and teachers and students gathered in the Great Hall, making the school lively all of a sudden.

Seeing the pies and cheese, they seemed to forget the torment of papers and assignments they had suffered the previous two days, completely abandoning their unfinished work and focusing on enjoying their pre-school dinner.

“Sirius took me back to Godric’s Hollow, and I saw not only my mom and dad’s graves, but also the Dumbledore family’s, where it seems his mom and sister are buried, and the Abbot’s…” Harry said in a low voice, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, so that only his two companions could hear him.

“It’s a town where Muggles and wizards live together, and it has a very long history, dating back to the time of Gryffindor.” Ron rarely had the chance to show off his knowledge in front of Hermione.

“The headmaster’s mother and sister…it’s so pitiful, he has no family left.” Hermione’s attention was drawn to the Dumbledore family’s tombstone.

"So what? He's almost 120 years old, it would be strange if his mother were still alive."

"..."

At the head table in the Great Hall, Dumbledore, dressed in a gold and red suit in Gryffindor colors, looked radiant as he stroked his beard and examined with interest the silver cutlery and unopened whiskey on the main seat.

"Albus, what's wrong?" Professor Sprout, a herbalist, asked curiously. "You've been staring at that bottle of whiskey for the past ten minutes. Is there a problem?"

"Ahem... I'm looking at the labels above."

Dumbledore answered somewhat flusteredly, his voice rougher than usual, and his speech faster: "You know, back then, there were fewer than ten bottles of whisky made in the entire wizarding world from Dragon Farm in Scotland. At that time, the gentlemen of the International Wizarding Union hadn't yet forbidden ordinary wizards from raising dragons. The whisky was made from dragonfire, and the wheat and grapes used for brewing were grown using dragon dung. Later, the dragons all moved to Romania..."

"The Wizarding Union... gentlemen?" Sprout's gaze became even stranger.

"Um... it's a rather unique name, isn't it? I heard them call me that in the tavern."

Feeling guilty, Abufu changed the subject: "Pomona, how was your Easter holiday? How are the little ones in the greenhouse?"

Sprout still felt a little awkward, and subconsciously followed his words, replying, "The first and third greenhouses are not bad. The mandrakes in the second greenhouse are almost ripe. As the weather gradually warms up, they are very energetic and noisy."

"Perhaps we should pour some whiskey on them."

Aberforth muttered a sigh of relief, picked up the bottle in front of him, opened it, and poured himself a glass.

He couldn't wait to try it, smacked his lips, and thought it was just so-so, not even as good as the wine stored in Pig Head Bar.

“Ahem, Albus…” Professor McGonagall tugged at his sleeve. “Stop drinking. The principal will give a speech before the banquet starts. It’s your turn to address the students.”

"The principal's address?"

The silver spoon jingled against the side of the goblet. Under the watchful eyes of the entire school, Aberforth slowly rose, stammering and unsure of what to say, his face flushed red.

"I knew it... I knew it..."

She shouldn't have let Albus do such a thing; how could she let the owner of Pighead Bar pretend to be the principal!
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, seething with hatred.

The students, however, saw a different picture. After an Easter holiday, the principal was still as childlike as ever. His flushed face was a sign of good health and high spirits, and his long silence was a bad joke. An awkward silence was the only thing that was supposed to happen.

Only Percy, sitting at the front of the Gryffindor table, looked at the headmaster suspiciously; his head was still throbbing.

Dumbledore has been the headmaster for so many years, and I've never heard of him ever physically punishing students.

Is he the most special one?
After thinking for a long time, Abu Fuh finally managed to say, "Let's start eating!"

"Oh!"

George and Fred led the applause, and the auditorium erupted in cheers.

To feign silence on such a solemn occasion, attracting the attention of the entire school, and then say nothing at all—what a pure example of the principal's dry humor, the best embodiment of the spirit of mischief.

Thinking about it carefully, it really is the principal's style.

Percy fell silent. Was it really because his idea of ​​abandoning his family was too much that the headmaster couldn't help but teach him a lesson?
Professor McGonagall also fell silent.

Never mind, it's always a good thing that nothing went wrong.

We'll settle the score with Albus after the dinner.

The banquet officially began, and a cacophony of noise echoed through the hall. The clinking of knives and forks against plates and the chattering of teachers and students in the next room made the candlelight flicker and even the stars and moon on the magic dome tremble.

Seated to the side of the main guest's table, Melvin's gaze kept drifting towards the head of the table throughout the meal, a strange smile always playing on his lips.

Snape, sitting to his right, caught a glimpse of his smile and scoffed, "Dumbledore's really senile, doing something so stupid. If the Board of Governors finds out..."

"How did you figure that out?" Melvin asked curiously.

“…” Snape glanced at him sideways, too lazy to answer.

“Oh, Legilimency.”

Melvin withdrew his gaze and nodded thoughtfully.

Come to think of it, how could such a level of disguise possibly fool a double agent like Snape? Snape was not only a master of Occlumency, able to hide his thoughts and emotions even in front of Voldemort, but also a master of Legilimency. Aberforth, on the other hand, was just a tavern owner who dropped out of school early. Without having to painstakingly search through his memories, he could have determined that the person was not the original headmaster simply by catching some overflowing emotions.

Melvin chewed his steak as he pondered.

As a former Death Eater and a dark wizard himself, Snape was clearly influenced by dark magic, and his personality was somewhat extreme. Even after using the Resurrection Stone to talk to Lily and resolve his inner conflicts, he was still a slightly dark wizard.

Is there any way to get Snape to help Hermione with a lesson in magical mental health education?

Just as they were trying to figure out a way to persuade him, Flitwick leaned over and asked, "What are you two whispering about? Is this the principal's brother, the owner of the Pig's Head Bar?"

"How did you figure that out?" Melvin was genuinely curious this time.

“We’ve known Dumbledore for decades, it would be strange if we didn’t see it. We also know a bit about the headmaster’s affairs. We’ve tried to persuade him a few Christmases, and even tried to get him drunk, but he couldn’t think straight, and there was nothing we could do.”

Flitwick shook his head, sounding quite pleased. "Now it's all right, those two old guys have finally reconciled. I thought they were really going to never speak to each other again." "Is that so..."

Melvin also felt a bit emotional.

Apart from Snape, the other three heads of the house were all veterans who had been teaching at Hogwarts since the time they dealt with Grindelwald. They had been with the headmaster for decades and were practically family to him, so they knew each other's mannerisms very well.

The disguise was convincing enough, but subtle movements, even blinking or frowning, were seen as flaws by them.

As Flitwick was reflecting, he felt Melvin lean closer and lower his voice, saying, "Felius, you're an authority in the field of spells. I wonder if you've researched Legilimency? I'd like to know if this magic affects personality. Do you have any advice..."

"I didn't practice it; I've already mastered it."

"Students... how could I let students come into contact with risky spells?"

……

In the following days, Hogwarts resumed classes.

Summer is approaching, and the temperature in the Scottish Highlands is slowly rising, like the tender buds of vines spreading silently. Students feel a slight sense of anxiety, transitioning from the leisurely state of the holidays to the tense atmosphere of exam preparation.

Fifth and seventh graders live a very secluded life, only seen in the library, classrooms, and dormitories. They always hurry when passing stairs and corridors, and even recite their lessons while eating in the auditorium, almost drowning in the ocean of knowledge.

Students in other grades can relax a bit more, and can chat and joke around during breaks and meals in the auditorium.

In this atmosphere, a strange rumor began to circulate among the students at some point.

"The principal is really senile, I'm not joking!"

Seamus lowered his voice and said mysteriously, "This morning, I saw him get lost on the stairs. He stood there for half an hour on the rotating platform between the third and fourth floors without coming down. He finally came out behind Justin."

They were walking along a path between the fields, heading towards the enclosure at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The next lesson was Professor Hagrid's class on protecting magical creatures.

"It's not that I'm senile, it's that my mind is confused."

Dean, standing nearby, corrected him earnestly, "His personality has also become unpredictable. The other day I went to the North Tower for a divination class and saw him chatting and laughing with Professor Trelawney one second, and the next second he met Percy and immediately got angry. He only said two words before chasing after Percy and beating and scolding him."

"Hitting and scolding?!"

Ron was incredulous. He was actually quite pleased to hear that Percy had been reprimanded by the professor: "He really hit him? That's Headmaster Dumbledore, you know. I've almost never seen him get angry, let alone hit or scold someone."

"They really did it."

Dean nodded emphatically, gesturing as he bent his fingers, raised the knuckle of his middle finger, and gave him a flick on the forehead: "Percy ran away covering his head."

The Gryffindor students surrounding the school gasped in shock, finding it hard to believe that the usually kind headmaster would actually hit someone, especially one of the school's most outstanding students.

Miss Know-It-All pondered for a moment, her face grave, and gave her judgment: "Based on what you've said, Dumbledore may not be senile, but rather suffer from Alzheimer's disease."

"What kind of 'Zi Demon Syndrome'?"

While the other young wizards were looking on in confusion, a sudden, cold laugh rang out from ahead—it was Draco Malfoy.

He turned around, squinted at Hermione, and said in a mocking tone, "Don't you know that wizards and Muggles are different? Don't apply the ailments of those Muggle quacks to wizards. A wizard as powerful as Dumbledore, even if you're mentally impaired, he won't be."

Hermione looked at him and chuckled, "Didn't you look down on Muggle stuff? How come you know that Alzheimer's is senile dementia?"

"I...I heard it from Professor Levent," Draco hurriedly explained, but he couldn't hide the embarrassment on his face. He angrily flung his sleeves and left with his two henchmen.

The young wizards, discussing the headmaster's head, arrived at the forest area on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

As soon as they passed through the bushes, they saw Professor Hagrid.

The half-giant was dressed in patched animal skin clothing, like a hunting savage hiding in a primeval forest. He carried a bag of crossbow bolts and still had a scraggly beard and unkempt hair, clearly someone who frequently dealt with animals.

Two animals followed beside them: one was a hound named Tooth, and the other was today's lesson content.

Hagrid, seeing that all the students had arrived, grinned and gave a kind smile:
"Today we will learn about the last animal of this semester, Pomlock!"

The students’ attention turned to the small animal under the fence, an even-toed ungulate, somewhat like a small monkey, with two small arms, four short, thick fingers gripping the fence, walking on two feet, a large amount of thick mane on its head, only about two feet tall, and its whole body covered with coarse, soft fur.

Faced with the students' scrutiny, the little beast shrank back behind the hunting dog, looking timid.

"You need to know about Pomlocks. They are the guardians of horses, feed on grass, and mainly gather in Dorset and Ireland. They nest on stable haystacks and usually hide among the herds they protect."

Hagrid's cheerful voice echoed through the forest: "These little guys are shy by nature and don't trust humans. They'll hide when they encounter people, but they'll stand up for the herd when it's in danger. Believe me, you don't want to see them get angry."

The Magical Creatures Protection class was a joint class for Gryffindor and Slytherin students. Hermione stood in the middle of the front row, with Malfoy and the others to her left, who were observing the small creature.

Hermione shifted her gaze to Pansy Parkinson and Daphne, who, despite having suffered such insults, were now hanging out together again.

Seemingly noticing her gaze, Pansy looked over and, upon seeing Hermione, turned her head in a flustered manner, like a startled animal.

"You must accurately discern Pomlock's mood."

Hagrid continued his lecture: "When it is shy and timid, don't be too aggressive. Give it some space, and you can show your affection with food or soft grass to lower its guard. If you see any signs of anger, don't hesitate to turn around and leave immediately."

"Hagrid didn't find another dangerous animal to teach him, did he?" Ron whispered in Harry's ear.

"I don't think so..." Harry said, sounding unsure.

After finishing the less important theoretical knowledge, it was finally time for a close encounter. Hagrid cleared his throat, looking excited: "Alright, now anyone want to come up and stroke its fur?"

The students looked at each other, hesitant.

(End of this chapter)