A certain Hogwarts professor of runes

Chapter 715 Speculation

Since the start of the school year, Harry felt as if his attention had been split into six or seven pieces—Quidditch, Dumbledore's biography, the student council, clubs... The difficulty of seventh-year coursework had only increased, and the professors seemed to have been waiting for this moment, intending to cram all sorts of profound magical knowledge into them all at once.

In the Charms class, the short, excitable professor Flitwick exclaimed in an exaggerated tone:

"Good heavens! I really want to list all the useful spells, but I'm worried your barren little brains can't hold them all!"

The students below looked at each other in bewilderment.

“But don’t worry,” he said with a smile, standing as usual on a stack of thick books. “I will teach you more practical things, closer to the essence of spells… such as the storage spell, which allows you to cast two completely different spells at once; and how to analyze and construct an unfamiliar spell, which will definitely come in handy if you plan to invent spells in the future; or other advanced spellcasting techniques, such as the order of different spells applied to the same target, how to reduce interference… and so on.”

In Potions class, no one was spared. Harry felt as if he were back in his first year—after a failed attempt at making scabies potion in the first lesson, Snape had spent weeks training them on the most basic potion-making techniques—

In each advanced class, students had to do their best to meet Professor Slughorn's various requests, such as "using rose petals and agaric mushrooms to reduce the toxicity of aconite" and "how to maximize the efficacy of lady's mantle with limited materials"...

Even Emily Vance, the newly appointed professor of Transfiguration, after becoming familiar with the teaching tasks, gave her students new requirements: seventh graders would continue learning about human transformation and try to combine transformation theory with various complex models for comprehensive application. After saying this, she transformed a feather into a small bird, then the bird's long beak flattened, its feathers fell out, and black satin-like down grew out, transforming into a Niffler. The students were amazed.

"It's all just appearances," Emily Vance said. "My takeaway is, don't get stuck on the morphological transformations you've learned before, but figure out what effect you want to achieve."

Snape's attitude was the most likely to make students uncomfortable.

Even when his favorite subject was changed, his attitude didn't change much. In a recent Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Snape flipped through the textbook to the very end, and the students watched his movements, trying to guess which part he was about to learn. But when Snape reached the last page, he simply tossed the book aside.

"Today's lesson is an extension topic, and you'll find that the exam won't cover this part at all." His dark eyes swept across the classroom. "This means that this lesson won't be very helpful for those who just want to get the NEWTs certificate. Those who don't want to listen or don't understand can come back next week."

No one left voluntarily. Although everyone was angry and felt slighted, they secretly harbored a grudge, preparing to retaliate. However, after class, the students walked out of the classroom dejectedly; clearly, not one of them had met Snape's expectations.

"You know what's most infuriating?" Dean exclaimed indignantly, "He actually suggested that I use my free time to do something else... like go swimming in Black Lake or something."

"That's not surprising," Seamus said, suppressing a laugh. "Your hair loss curse almost hit him. Think about it—"

"But the seventh-year course was really valuable, with a dazzling array of advanced applications of defensive and dueling spells," Daphne Greengrass chattered excitedly. "You can't even imagine how amazing it would be to replace 'Spell Stop' with 'Spell End'..."

On the afternoon of the last day of September, Hermione came out of her dormitory carrying a box and sat opposite Harry and Ron. The two stared intently at the box, and Harry said hopefully, "Hermione, is there some kind of badge inside?"

"—And it even has ambiguous abbreviations?" Ron added.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Of course not!" She opened the box and emptied its contents, revealing a thick stack of clippings that immediately piled up on the table like a small mountain. Harry and Ron gathered around to look. "These are what I collected over the past month since school started, and now I need to reorganize them."

"Sorting like we do during summer vacation?" Harry asked.

"Hmm," Hermione said.

"Can you see anything?" Harry asked as he and Ron rummaged through the table, picking out what interested them.

Since the start of the school year, the summer news-cutting work had stopped. Other students might subscribe to one or two newspapers at most, except for Hermione—who subscribed to every newspaper and magazine she could find. Every week, the Grangers would send her a package containing the Muggle newspapers they could buy.

"The news is always a bit delayed, but we can still get some useful information. I have to say, things are changing rapidly," Hermione said, tidying up as she spoke. "Especially when reading it alongside the book 'Promoting the Publicity of Magic'..."

"I know without even looking," Ron muttered. "The whole world is changing, but Professor Binns's class remains the same."

Harry's gaze fell on a small clipping, and he looked down to read its contents.

The new wizarding town will be located in Cornwall and named Rutherford. Two hundred wizards have already moved there. Rutherford is reportedly adjacent to another wizarding-Muggle community—Dingworth village—and with the new town's completion, wizards in the surrounding area will have more options…

Dingworth… Harry stared at the name, then suddenly asked Ron, “What’s the name of the place where Bill and Fleur finally settled?”

"A seashell hut," Ron said casually.

"No, I mean a specific location."

“Oh, it must be on a cliff overlooking the sea in Cornwall,” Ron said with a look of recollection. “Bill wrote to me about it—on the outskirts of a village, called… what was it again?”

"Dingworth," Harry said confidently.

"Yes, that's it."

Harry nodded and continued reading the neatly printed text on the clipping: "Rutherford will become the second town in England to be entirely composed of wizards, the first being Hogsmeade Village. The town's construction involved twenty-four staff members and fifty-seven wizarding families who decided to settle here. Thank you for their contributions..."

Harry saw Longbottom's last name in a long list of names.

The second news item was an interview reprinted in the Daily Prophet from a Muggle newspaper, in which a seemingly influential guy criticized the Wizarding Trade Association for disrupting existing business rules and argued that they should be banned from certain industries... Harry put down the clipping, used to the occasional opposition, and reached for a small piece of paper the size of his palm.

The note, written in tightly packed small print, stated that the Ivermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in America had accepted twelve children with magical talent. None of them were old enough to attend school; the oldest was only ten, and the youngest was just six. Harry read uncomfortably that these children had been forced to take special drugs and undergo various tests. He paused for a moment before continuing. The second paragraph described their origins—"Descendants of the Purifiers. The Purifiers despicably betrayed their own kind, choosing to intermarry with Muggles to escape punishment and abandoning any child who showed magical talent… These people were ultimately punished."

A surge of anger and relief welled up inside Harry, and a vague idea popped into his head, but it was interrupted before it could take shape.

"Hey! Listen to this!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. "This Muggle newspaper praises Dumbledore for single-handedly intimidating two generations of Dark Lords, and now it's Professor Hyp's turn to take the baton. They're curious to see who the strongest wizard is—"

Hermione gave a sarcastic snort. "They just want Grindelwald and the professor to fight."

“I’m curious too,” Ron read the news with great interest. “They call Dumbledore the Swordholder, which is a really cool title, but he’s holding a wand, not a sword… who knows, maybe it refers to the Gryffindor sword?” He gestured in the air with one hand, pretending to hold a goblin sword that could cut through iron like butter.

"How's the biography coming along?" Hermione asked Harry, clipping a stack of clippings together with a small clipper.

"It will take at least a few more months to finish," Harry muttered. "Mr. Dorje has very high expectations."

Hermione shrugged, took the small piece of paper from Harry, glanced at it, and then sighed, "I hope these children are well taken care of." But then her gaze froze, and the sympathy in her eyes was replaced by horror.

"No, it shouldn't be, it's impossible..." she muttered to herself, staring at the table.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

Hermione held her breath and asked softly, "You mean... these children, will they be the first? Only them? Could there be more—"

"What first batch?" Ron stopped what he was doing and asked.

Harry's eyes widened suddenly. The vague idea that had been lingering in his mind became clear all of a sudden, but he wished it weren't true.

"You mean there were others controlled by the local government before them—" Harry was speechless, his expression serious; this guess was terrifying.

Ron looked around, snatched the note from Hermione's hand, and quickly read it. Combining what he'd heard with what he read, his face paled, filled with unease. But then he suddenly realized something. "I said—it shouldn't be like you think, that Ivermorny and Hogwarts have similar magic, and any young wizard who shows magical talent is recorded—well, these twelve children are just too young, which gave the villains an opportunity."

Harry and Hermione paused, Ron's words seemed to make sense, and they couldn't find a flaw in his argument for the time being. They both breathed a sigh of relief. After tidying up the clippings, Hermione pulled out the book "Promoting the Publicity of Magic" from her beaded pouch, but she seemed restless for a long time, even losing her appetite for dinner.

Finally, Harry suggested visiting Hagrid. Ron and Hermione had no objections, but after leaving the castle, they stood at the door of Hagrid's hut and knocked for ten minutes without receiving a response. There was no one inside. "Hagrid's not home; he's probably out patrolling the Forbidden Forest," Harry said. "It's strange, the lights have been on the whole time."

"Maybe he took Grop for a walk—either way, we made a wasted trip," Ron said, frowning.

They could only turn back, and Harry looked back several times but didn't see Hagrid or anyone even more imposing than Hagrid.

"Come again tomorrow, Harry," Hermione advised.

"Remember to bring a Marauder's Map, so you don't get lost," Ron suggested.

“Good idea,” Harry said, “but there’s no need to carry it with us. We can just check if Hagrid is home before we come. My Marauder’s Map doesn’t go deep into the Forbidden Forest—what’s wrong, Hermione?”

Hermione suddenly stopped, her eyes wide with fear.

"Lights... Marauder's Map...can't see it..." She suddenly jumped up. "Oh, I just remembered something important—but I'd better check first, I'll call you later." Before Harry could ask any questions, she dashed into the hallway.

"What's on her mind?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"I don't know," Harry thought, a shadow falling over his heart. He thought of the American Purifiers, and the heavy topics they had discussed during the day, but what could the lights and the Marauder's Map possibly remind Hermione of? "Let's go, let's follow them!"

They ran towards the stairs, but after climbing five floors, they still couldn't find Hermione. "She might have gone to the library," they thought. They turned back and, under Mrs. Pince's sharp gaze, searched the library again, but still found nothing. They had no choice but to return to the common room and wait for Hermione to come back on her own.

On the other side—

Hermione returned from the ancient runes office, which was also locked. Clearly, the professor hadn't returned to school yet, so late. She hesitated for a moment, still undecided. Just then, a strange sound came from her, and she took a glowing spyglass from her beaded pouch.

"Is it Varen?" Hermione's eyes lit up. If Varen was back, the professor would definitely be there too.

Holding the lookout scope—no, the sniffer scope—she descended the spiral staircase and quickly returned to the foyer. She paused briefly before the House Cup hourglass to get her bearings, then walked strangely down the underground passage. Were they in Professor Snape's office?

With this thought in mind, Hermione followed the stone steps to a spacious underground corridor. The corridor was brightly lit on both sides, and colorful portraits hung on the walls. Occasionally, she could see one or two Hufflepuff students talking behind the pillars—this was not the way to the original Potions Professor's office.

"..."

Hermione's expression grew even stranger. "Well, it's not impossible." Finally, she stopped in front of a series of paintings depicting a huge silver bowl overflowing with fruit. She took a deep breath, extended her index finger, and gently scratched the large, emerald-green pear. The pear wriggled and transformed into a green handle.

Hermione pushed open the door—inside was Hogwarts' kitchen—her gaze swept over the spacious, clean room, as large as the Great Hall, with four long dining tables identical to those in the Great Hall. She hurried through the room to the actual location of the kitchen.

Hermione spotted her target immediately. Her heart, previously filled with unease and fear, now somehow felt a strange urge to laugh. Felix sat on a small round stool, the kind house-elves usually sat on, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the enormous fireplace. Dozens of house-elves surrounded him. She took a few steps forward and, through the gaps between the elves, saw a small, furry black creature—Valen. He, too, sat on a small stool, knees drawn up, his eyes fixed intently on the fireplace.

An enticing aroma filled the air.

"Gulp." Hermione couldn't help but swallow. She hadn't eaten much that evening.

Felix turned to the side on the bench, revealing a dozen or so sizzling, rolling fish in the fireplace, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes.

"Granger? What a coincidence to run into you here—uh, I haven't had dinner yet, and you—" He scrutinized Hermione's face, "you're here looking for food too?"

(End of this chapter)