Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 385 Nurmengard's Letter
The dark sky was as thick as asphalt.

The torrential rain poured down from the Alps like a flood. When lightning tore through the clouds, the entire tower seemed to be under a gruesome spell, emitting a mournful howl, accompanied by thunder rolling through the opaque clouds.

Less than 20 feet from the lightning rod at the top of the tower, a hardworking rat emerged from a crack in the rock. It had a dark red, bald, fleshy tail and little muscle, making it look lean and capable.

It moved swiftly across the narrow stone platform, its nose constantly sniffing, capturing the scents escaping the air, searching for food to satisfy its hunger.

Despite being a barren tower far from the city center, one can occasionally find abundant food scraps.

"Squeak..." The mouse was full of anticipation.

Every now and then, owl messengers would stop on the terrace, and the jerky and nuts peeking out of their bundles were a rare treat.

Just as the rat passed by the cell window, its tail suddenly twitched, as if it had been grabbed by something.

The mouse darted away a few steps to a safe spot, then turned around, arching its back, its whiskers and fur standing on end, full of vigilance.

However, there was nothing behind him, only the winding, vine-like marks left by Niven on the granite. When lightning flashed, faint fluorescent light flowed along the marks, subtly revealing a touch of classical oil painting beauty.

"Squeak?" The mouse asked, puzzled.

There are hardly any other creatures in this prison. Not to mention natural enemies like cats, snakes, eagles, and vultures, even geckos, salamanders, and spiders are rare. There are only two guards who patrol twice a day, and the withered old wizard huddled in a corner, motionless like a ghoul.

The guards didn't eat in the prison, and the prisoners' food tasted like mud, so the rats weren't interested in them.

Just as the mouse was gradually lowering its guard, its tail stood up again. This time, it didn't give the mouse a chance to struggle and escape. It seemed that an invisible force firmly gripped its tail and lifted the whole mouse up.

"Squeak! Squeak!" The mouse flailed its limbs wildly.

It tried to look up to see the enemy clearly, but its short, thick neck couldn't make that movement. It could only turn its head to look at the window, trying to see the enemy through its reflection.

The old, weathered glass windows were covered in scratches and could not reflect anything.

At that moment, several pebbles also floated up, their edges sharpened into blades. They pressed against the skin and flesh of the rat's neck, applying slight force and slowly cutting and pulling.

As the rats squeaked even more shrilly, drops of crimson blood seeped out, one by one, faster and faster, until they finally merged into a trickle of blood, staining the windows and flowing down the outer wall of the tower, only to be quickly washed away by the torrential rain.

Only when the rats were completely still did someone push open the window, and a hand as dry as tree bark reached out, one hand grasping the rat carcass hanging in the air, and the other picking up a stone blade to process the rat carcass.

Make a small cut along the center line, and with a strong tear, a slightly damaged rat skin comes off.

The remaining bloody flesh was tied around the neck with a few dry straws and hung dangling from the window.

After doing all this, he stretched his hands out the window and washed the blood off them with the rain. The old wizard coughed lightly twice, then slowly walked back to the corner and covered himself with the tattered and dirty blanket.

There were several light-colored marks on the floor of the spacious cell, worn down by the accumulated footsteps over time. There were also several windows, each with similar rat carcasses hanging on it, some dried out and others still bearing traces of bright red blood.

Rats are a rare and valuable resource in Nurmengard. Their skins can be dried and used as stationery, while their meat can be fed to owls as postage. Occasionally, they can also attract birds, whose meat can be used for a snack.

The only downside was the smell; the dead rats emitted a foul stench. But Grindelwald didn't mind much; after staying there for a while, he gradually got used to the stench.

"Hey sir! Did you catch another one?"

A young guard's voice came from outside the room, his tone devoid of any negative emotion, even carrying a hint of friendliness.

"Ha, yes, Lady Luck is on my side."

Grindelwald was happy to reply, finding it pleasant to have someone to talk to in this remote tower.

The first few years of his imprisonment were not pleasant. The International Wizarding Federation and the Austrian Ministry of Magic were on high alert for him. His guards were elite Aurors with decades of experience who liked to cause trouble and would often rush into his cell to pick a fight or use their fists to greet him.

It is common for victims' families to come to the prison, hysterically screaming things like "You killed my husband" or "You killed my son," or other relatives, but he has no recollection of those names.

A few years later, the physical abuse and the victims' families gradually decreased. The wizards of the International Wizarding Federation were withdrawn, but the wizards of the Austrian Ministry of Magic remained vigilant, occasionally rushing in to check his charcoal-drawn divination notes.

After several decades, such behavior gradually decreased.

Not everyone has abundant magical power and can live to be a hundred years old. The wizards who lived through that era gradually grew old and disappeared. They retired and left this place of past sorrow, and were replaced by a group of young wizards who were like blank sheets of paper.

They have freckles on their faces, thick hair with no signs of baldness, and speak with a strong, resonant voice, radiating youthful vitality at all times.

Grindelwald could easily see through the thoughts of these unpolished young wizards, and stirring their emotions and desires was almost instinctive for him. Just like decades ago, he could gather another group of followers and leave Nurmengard whenever he wanted.

But he kept his promise to Albus and remained law-abiding for decades.

However, his former subordinates were not at ease and had secretly approached the young wizard. Miss Vida was still as capable as ever, and unknowingly recruited some young wizards into the Saints, sending him newspapers and food, passing on news from the outside world, and encouraging him to leave the tower.

"By the way, sir, Aunt Vida asked me to ask about that matter again."

"Let her give up, Bruno."

"Oh……"

The guard's footsteps faded into the distance, but Grindelwald remained unmoved.

The prison fell silent again, as if the wails and conversations from before had never happened. Looking out the window, all that could be seen were jagged cliffs and a vast plain.

The scenery was beautiful, but he got tired of it after the first year.

Aside from the long silence, there was nothing to pass the time; one could only find solace in past memories, which was what Albus wanted him to do, but that stingy fellow wouldn't even set up a Pensieve.

Grindelwald can only rely on his mind to search through his past memories, which is a difficult task for a centenarian wizard, as those past scenes will not line up according to his preferences.

The first thing that comes to mind is usually Durmstrang's pre-school shopping, excitedly choosing his wand at the wand shop, the one he found before heading to Grigorovich, Germany.

Then there's the toad I raised as a child, the cover of a dark magic book I only remember the cover of but not the contents, a wooden artwork on the wall of a Muggle house I robbed years ago, and the bewildered eyes of a two-year-old child facing his killing curse.

It often takes him a long time to recall the exact summer when he was 17, when he went to his aunt Bashat’s house to relax after being expelled from Durmstrang and met a friendly family.

Some memories, replaying repeatedly in his mind, had become worn and faded. People always say that frequent recollection can solidify those memories, but Grindelwald knew that was all a lie; memories would only gradually fade. With a secret hope, he wrote to Albus, hoping to preserve some of the fading memories.

"Cuckoo..."

An owl flapped its wings and landed on the windowsill, its feathers soaked and clinging to its body. It shivered but protected the envelope from getting wet. Grindelwald couldn't help but feel a little moved. It wasn't easy for those birds to get close to Nurmengard in the downpour.

I hurried to the window faster than usual, took the envelope and touched the owl's wing at the same time. A warm current emanated from it, and magic, carrying moisture, rippled through the air.

The owl nuzzled the old wizard's palm, hooted happily twice, and strode off to enjoy the skinned rat jerky.

Grindelwald weighed the envelope in his hand, then looked at the cover. His expectant heart was filled with a strange sense of unease; this was the same letter he had sent out months ago.

He quickly flipped it over to look at the back, where a note was attached:
"Letter returned:"
To the deceased, Albus Percival Woolflick Brian Dumbledore.

Condolences

Owl Management Division
Ministry of Magic

Lightning ripped through the sky, and Grindelwald's face turned deathly pale. His eyes glazed over, and faded, distorted memories flooded his mind, making him sway and almost drop the letter.

After a moment, he took a deep breath of the damp rain and raised his voice:

"Bruno, Bruno!"

……

Hogwarts, at dusk.

Four long oak tables were placed in the center of the hall, and students who had been away for the summer vacation sat around them, their faces beaming with bright smiles.

Everyone was dressed in black uniform robes with the animal emblems of the four houses on their chests, and dried water stains on the hems and cuffs.

The express train had just stopped at the dark Hogsmeade station. The rain was pouring down. As is customary, freshmen followed Hagrid across the lake by ferry, while second-year students and above braved the rain to ride Thestrals.

The students sat below, while the professors and principal sat in the main seats. The sky above the magic dome was just as overcast as outside, with lightning flashing and thunder rumbling. However, the dazzling torches and candlelight softened the blinding lightning, and the thunder was suppressed by the noise.

A very small number of young wizards were not focused on catching up with their classmates. For example, Harry from Gryffindor was sitting at the back of the long table, looking up at the professors in the main seat.

The short Charms professor Flitwick sat on a pile of cushions, while Sprout and Professor Sinister spoke in hushed tones beside him. Snape remained expressionless and cold-faced...

"Why don't I see any new faces? Where is the new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?" Hermione asked, glancing at the professors in the main seat.

Professor Lu Ping was nowhere to be seen; he had indeed resigned and not returned.

Sirius Black wasn't there, so he probably wasn't the professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts today.

Harry looked somewhat disappointedly toward the center of the main seating area, where Headmaster Dumbledore was sitting.

His flowing silver-white hair and beard shimmered in the candlelight, and his magnificent dark green robe was embroidered with star and moon patterns. He tilted his head slightly up, looking at the magical dome, his azure eyes hidden behind crescent-shaped lenses.

He looked every bit like a legendary wizard.

But the image of the legendary wizard was quickly shattered. Dumbledore seemed to have heard Professor Levent's joke and burst into unrestrained laughter. Then he picked up a full glass of beer, downed it in one gulp, and let out a hearty sigh, ignoring the foam on his beard.

Even the lecherous wizard at the Three Brooms bar wouldn't drink so recklessly, disregarding his image.

"..."

Many students fell silent; after a summer apart, they felt that something had changed about Dumbledore that they were unaware of.

Harry was also having second thoughts. Should he tell Dumbledore about that strange dream he had before school started? It didn't seem like a very reliable idea.

This year's opening banquet was a bit strange; the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's seat remained empty until the Sorting Ceremony ended, and no one sat down there.

Before the banquet began, there was supposed to be a speech by the headmaster. Dumbledore's behavior was very much in line with his usual image; he didn't ramble on and immediately told everyone to fill their stomachs first.

After the banquet, the most important part was the principal's speech.

The clock struck precisely on time, the dessert cups were emptied, the last crumbs on the plates disappeared, leaving them clean and sparkling again. Professor McGonagall tapped her wine glass with her spoon, and the buzzing in the hall immediately ceased.

However, it wasn't Dumbledore who stood up, but Professor Levent next to him!

"Cough cough..."

Melvin cleared his throat. The tavern owner already had enough flaws. For now, he could still fool him with Dumbledore's eccentric personality. If he got him to get up and say something strange, the undercover plan might not be able to proceed.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts! Now that we've all eaten and drunk our fill, as is customary, I will read out some announcements for the new school year and inform the new students of some basic things to note."

"No student is allowed to approach the Forbidden Forest beyond the grounds, and students below the third year are not permitted to visit Hogsmeade Village..."

"Mr. Filch, the administrator, has added a list of prohibited items, including 437 new items for the joke shop such as screaming yo-yos, wolf-tooth flying saucers, and boomerangs. The complete list is in Mr. Filch's office. Anyone interested can go and check it out."

The reactions so far were all normal, but when the list of prohibited items was mentioned, George and Fred suddenly high-fived and cheered, as the number of new prohibited items was less than they had predicted.

This means that the administrator made a mistake, and the twin brothers will bring some prohibited items that are not on the list to school.

Mr. Filch's face darkened.

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched a few times as Melvin continued reading the announcement: "In addition, Hogwarts will not be hosting the Quidditch Cup this year. I believe some of you have already heard this. With the help of the Department of International Affairs, we will restart the Goblet of Fire in October."

Some of the less informed students opened their eyes wide, ready to ask questions, but what they heard next left them speechless.

"Students from Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang will come to Hogwarts to compete against us for the championship of the Four Nations Tournament!"

(End of this chapter)