Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 356 Intern

The azure sky seemed freshly washed, with no clouds to obscure it. The sun was so hot it made your scalp burn, and you could hear the chirping of crickets and katydids from Charing Cross Road.

Turn from the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley, walk straight in the opposite direction of Gringotts, and the Prophet's office is not far away.

Hermione stood at a quiet street corner and looked up.

A brass road sign hangs on the red brick exterior wall, with a quill pen engraved at the top and a line of small, neatly written characters below indicating the address of the road or alley.

Further down are the winding, artistic lettering characters, resembling naturally growing vines:

"The Prophet's Newspaper, founded in the 17th century."

Hermione's gaze swept over the signs on the street, then she looked up at the low-rise building housing the Prophet's Newspaper.

She carried a linen bag that looked bulging, but it didn't actually contain much; inside were portable pens and paper, some Gallo and pounds...

The little witch was a little uneasy because Professor Levent hadn't written a letter of recommendation, only a short note.

The note informed her to report to the Prophet's newspaper as soon as possible, stating that an internship had been arranged with the newspaper's editor, Mr. Barnabas Goughfe, and was marked with an ouroboros symbol. There was no other proof.

The note read: "Don't worry, everything has been arranged. Editor-in-Chief Gu Fei is kind and friendly, and all the staff at the newspaper are Hogwarts graduates..."

Professor Levent was an excellent tutor. He hadn't even spent two days at home during the summer vacation when this note was already in Hermione's hands. The wording was concise and understated, as if knocking on the door of a newspaper office would guarantee a job.

Hermione trusted the professor's arrangements, but that didn't stop her from feeling uneasy and conflicted as she stood in front of the newspaper office.

Fourteen-year-old Hermione Granger, a soon-to-be fourth-year student, carries a satchel and wand, takes the Knight Bus across half of London, and arrives at Diagon Alley.

If the notes and map indicate the correct directions, she will be working here for the next two months.

"Do the newspaper staff recognize me...? Do I need to check my identity...? Do I need to register my wand before entering?" Hermione wondered to herself as she knocked on the door, as if she were back in her freshman year.

While waiting for the door to open, Hermione stood at the entrance of the Prophet's office, pondering how she should greet the first employee she encountered, or perhaps ask Mr. Goughfair where his office was.
But she didn't make an appointment. Would the newspaper editor-in-chief meet with her?
"Are you the new employee Hermione?" The black-lacquered oak door opened, accompanied by a light, cheerful female voice that sounded vaguely familiar, as if she had heard it in the View Mirror.

“Yes, I am Hermione Granger, and you are…”

Hermione turned around, her breath catching for a moment. Before her stood an intelligent and radiant young witch, with long, slightly wavy golden hair cascading down her shoulders. Her features were broad and bright, her azure eyes as clear as the sky after rain, and the slight curve of her lips was just right.

Cecilia Haynes, the female host of the Prophet News, was a Gryffindor graduate from two years prior. After becoming the host, she quickly became an idol to the other students.

"You're here to complete your onboarding process, right?" Cecilia noticed the little witch's nervousness and her smile became even more friendly. "Editor-in-Chief Gufei has already given you instructions. Come with me."

The two witches entered the newspaper office. Behind the porch was a rotunda with a spiral staircase leading upstairs. The walls were covered with newspapers, not for shelter or to plug leaks, but from the Daily Prophet over the past few centuries. An indescribable smell permeated the air.

It was magical ink heated up, the parchment was worm-eaten and moldy, and it carried the warm smell of owl feathers.

Beyond the spiral staircase lies an open-air garden, surrounded by the newspaper staff's offices. Through the windows and open doors, one can see the furnishings inside. Some rooms are filled with oak desks, while others contain documents, wooden bookshelves crammed with large books and leather bags, labeled with tags on the sides.

Quidditch Riots

"Fairy Rebellion"

"Troll Wars"

"Horsemen protest"

"Cruise Thickness Act"

Hermione peered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the archives room. The mountain of documents resembled Gringotts' underground vault, and Cecilia, the goblin guarding the vault, left behind sparkling eyes as she led her through the corridor.

The staff members were engrossed in their work, their expressions focused.

One of the witches, who had her own office, caught Hermione's attention. Despite having a full head of blonde hair, she styled it into stiff, strange waves, wore jeweled glasses, and had thick, fleshy fingers with bright red manicures, making her look particularly awkward.

Cecilia noticed her gaze and introduced her in a low voice, "That's Rita Skeeter, the newspaper's star reporter and contracted writer. Her writing style used to be rather... well, she's much more composed now. There are many things a newcomer can learn from her."

Hermione pursed her lips. She had seen this name many times in the newspapers and remembered her as a despicable witch who spread rumors and gossip.

They hadn't gone far when they saw another private office. Through the window, Hermione could see the wizard's face inside, and she couldn't help but gasp softly:
Lockhart!

“Giddro Lockhart, now our editor, is a master of memory spells, especially forgetting spells and false memory spells, making him a good fit for shadow editing work.”

“But…” Hermione found it hard to accept.

"He was also recommended by Professor Levent."

Hermione immediately shut up.

She and Cecilia walked to the innermost office, next to which was the warehouse for storing materials. Cecilia joked that the last time the newspaper employed child laborers was hundreds of years ago, when a family business conscripted its own children to count paper and ink.

"But you don't need to worry about doing odd jobs; you're an intern with a letter of recommendation."

Hermione clutched the professor's letter of recommendation, feeling slightly embarrassed as an intern who had gotten the job through connections.

"Madam, what is your job at the newspaper?" Hermione asked.

"News anchor, belonging to the Film and Mirror Business Unit."

“The Mirror Division?” Hermione repeated, her face full of doubt.

"It's a newly established department. Editor-in-Chief Gu Fei divided the newspaper into two departments: one responsible for in-camera news and the other for print news. They are independent of each other and do not interfere with each other," Cecilia briefly explained.

"They're separate..."

Hermione felt disappointed by this division of labor, and she hoped her summer internship would allow her to interact with as many different employees as possible: "So what should I do?"

"You have to try out every position. In the words of Editor-in-Chief Gu Fei, it's like a job rotation internship: proofreading, typesetting and printing, sales statistics, customer liaison... That's right!"

Cecilia looked at the little witch: "Have you studied memory magic? How proficient are you?"

"Barely passable," Hermione said, sounding unsure. "Then I'll have to learn how to be an editor too."

"Learn from Lockhart?" Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

……

Fowler Workshop, a suburb of London.

A group of employees are watching metal processing.

Although it is a CNC lathe, the requirements for technicians are more stringent. They must strictly follow the drawings from the design department. Reading drawings and making accurate measurements are just the basics. In addition to keeping the tolerances within an acceptable range, they also need to learn programming, select appropriate cutting tools, and master sharpening techniques.

The drawings I sent over today have very high requirements.

Some employees looked bewildered, unable to even understand the blueprints, and didn't know where to begin. They had to entrust the production to senior technicians, whose skills left the young onlookers dizzy.

Complex programming reflects a gap in knowledge level, while minute details such as tool selection, sharpening techniques, and feed angles reveal a gap in experience accumulation.

The twin brothers, who had only been interning for a few days, struggled to decipher the technician's steps, their brows furrowed. They had no inclination to make jokes, but they had no other choice. They were completely unfamiliar with this metalworking technique, knew nothing about programming, how to use the machines, and didn't recognize the cutting tools.

Experienced young employees documented each step.

George and Fred stood on the periphery of the crowd, peering inside. The edges of the alloy knives seemed to be enchanted, scattering bright sparks when they came into contact with the metal parts. The engine inside the machine was spinning at high speed, humming continuously, and the indicator lights were flashing.

The two had been interning at the workshop for almost a week. Without Apparition certification, they could only rush to the Leaky Cauldron every morning and then pass through Charing Cross Road to catch the bus or subway.

If they hadn't mastered the "Head-Soaking Spell," the various smells in the carriage would have suffocated and made them faint long ago. The thought of having to squeeze onto the train again on the return trip at night was enough to make anyone despair.

With nearly two months of summer vacation remaining, they had to repeat this painful journey of going to and from get off work every day. Every time they thought about this, they would shudder involuntarily.

"Zi-"

The buzzing gradually became more piercing, but the volume gradually decreased, which was a sign that the processing was complete.

According to the workshop's procedures, the design department provides drawings, the corresponding workshops process and manufacture the products, and then they inspect and accept them. Even after delivery to the customer, it does not mean the end; there may be rework or repairs after the sale.

The entire process was far more complex than the business run by ordinary wizards, and the efficiency and profits were also much greater. George and Fred vaguely sensed something useful, but they couldn't quite put their finger on it.

Observe and record, mark any questions, and repeat the above process until noon.

The clock struck precisely on time.

Two identical figures sat in a corner of the workshop restaurant. Occasionally, passing employees couldn't help but glance at them. In just half an hour, the entire workshop knew that the two newcomers were twin brothers. They had red hair, were tall, had broad shoulders, and were quite handsome. However, their family backgrounds were not good, and their plates were piled high with all kinds of high-sugar and high-oil foods.

The two brothers ignored what others said and endured the suffocating smell to squeeze into the subway car in the morning. After a hard morning's work, this food was their only comfort.

Fred stuffed a piece of pizza into his mouth, the melted cheese sticking to his teeth, making his speech slurred:

“George, I’ve tried using Transfiguration to process metal. The results are good, the shape meets the requirements, and the tolerance is very small. However, I can’t keep the metal in its transformed state forever. The magic attached to the metal parts will slowly dissipate, and the metal will gradually return to its original state. In less than half a day, the tolerance is already too large to be used.”

"Perhaps we can use a cutting spell; magical milling is much better than using a knife."

George coated the fries with ketchup. By this time, the fries were already pre-made food, processed and prepared by the food factory into semi-finished products. They were then taken back to the kitchen, fried in oil, and tasted better than the fries that ordinary people make at home.

"Is your brain coated with ketchup?"

Fred looked at the man with disdain: "In all of Hogwarts, there are few professors who have such precise control over spells."

George thought for a moment: "That seems to be true..."

"What are you talking about?" someone asked as they sat down next to me.

His gruff voice suggested he was old, just like Hagrid, the gamekeeper.

"We were discussing the blueprints and processes from this morning." George took a sip of his Coke, the bubbles bursting on his tongue and gums, leaving a tingling, itchy feeling.

Fred looked up and glanced at the bearded middle-aged man sitting next to him. The man had a shiny bald head, bright eyes like motion sensor lights, and wore loose-fitting work clothes that smelled of coolant and engine oil, suggesting he hadn't changed his clothes in a long time.

The workshop's senior technician was in charge of processing the drawings made in the morning.

"What's there to discuss?"

The technician waved his hand dismissively. He enjoyed interacting with young people and was generous in sharing his technical skills and life experiences: "The job of a technician is tough and tiring, and the pay isn't very high. You still have the opportunity to rotate through different positions, so save your energy. You can learn better in the sales and purchasing departments; those are the better jobs!"

Why are you even belittling yourself?

George and Fred exchanged a glance, both finding it strange.

"Technicians do manual labor, working themselves to the bone, and only earn a meager salary. They spend all their time in workshops on the outskirts of the city. Those other people are different; they sit in air-conditioned rooms, conduct business in upscale hotels, collect rebates and commissions, and even get bonuses every quarter." The technician munched on fried chicken, even crushing the bone fragments.

The technician, who appeared positive and optimistic, had a painstakingly earnest expression on his face. The twin brothers felt that he had been through something, and they were even more excited about the upcoming job rotation.

……

On the other side of the vast City of London, at 4 Privet Road in the Little Wheeington district.

“Hey Harry, can you hear me? Did I dial the right number this time?” Ron yelled into the receiver.

"I can hear you, I can hear you." Harry quickly covered the receiver, his palms tingling from the vibration.

Three o'clock in the afternoon was the only time Harry could make a phone call to the outside world. Uncle Vernon hadn't returned from work yet, Aunt Petunia had gone out to the supermarket to buy groceries for dinner, and Cousin Dudley was playing games in front of the TV. The house seemed particularly spacious, and Harry had plenty of room to move around.

For the first week, Harry could only rely on Hathaway to deliver messages. After gradually figuring out the pattern, Harry began to plan a phone call. After several days of trying, he finally made contact with his friend at the agreed time.

"You're going to stay at the Dursleys' for another three weeks, right? Have you decided where you'll be staying next month?" Ron felt uneasy. With such a long distance, he was worried that his voice wouldn't be loud enough to carry from the Burrow to London.

“I’ve thought it through. Sirius invited me to his place, and he said Professor Levent will also be visiting,” Harry answered honestly.

(End of this chapter)