A certain Hogwarts professor of runes.

Harry saw Malfoy pause, guessing he must have heard him, but strangely, this time he didn't give a mocking smile, but walked away without looking back.

Harry turned around and saw Hermione picking up a book from the table in the back row.

“Oh, it was Lavender who left it. I don’t think she’s in the mood to pack it up… I’ll bring it to her,” Hermione said, her gaze lingering on the author’s name on the cover before she hesitated. “Of course, we can take a look at it first.”

……

In the evening, in the ancient magic script office.

A beetle crawled in through a crack in the window and slowly reformed into a human shape on the floor. Rita Skeeter was panting heavily; she particularly disliked meeting Felix alone, but she had no choice—she was being driven crazy.

Her new home—which showed signs of being broken into the day before yesterday—she didn't know if it was the work of that crazed Death Eater. She simply couldn't imagine that, with wanted posters plastered all over the streets, the fugitive known as 'Barty Crouch Jr.' would risk showing up near her house.

'Perhaps a radical fan…'

But she couldn't convince herself of that, especially since Blake was desperately trying to find out about her—damn it, she hadn't even mentioned the surname 'Blake' in her new book. At most, she'd hinted at it slightly in the title and the character's background…

The lights in the room suddenly turned on.

Rita Skeeter was startled, her eyes widened, and she could barely make out the person sitting on the sofa. She couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine.

"Rita, I've been waiting for you for a long time."

Felix said softly, holding Valen in her arms, the Niffler staring at her with curious eyes.

"Chirp chirp (the bug turned into a person)?"

Chapter 433 Red Fingernails

Rita Skeeter lowered her head deeply, afraid to speak loudly. She felt short of breath, but this time she was certain she wasn't under the influence of magic; there was just something more terrifying than magic.

She knew she had to make a decision quickly. She knew perfectly well that this man didn't care about her life or death; the only reason he came to her last time was to teach her to shut up, and since then, she hadn't been bothered by him in that regard. But similarly, if she wanted to seek help, she would have to pay a price.

She is confident that the name Rita Skeeter itself represents value.

“Dear Mr. Hyp,” she said earnestly, “I would like some advice when I have made a fatal mistake.” At the same time, she couldn’t help but complain about another man who lived high up in the castle, Dumbledore.

In her new book, although she avoids mentioning names, she uses numerous hints, as is her usual bold and shrewd approach, and adds a great deal of detail under the guise of the unspoken but universally acknowledged "entanglement between the Dark Lord and his loyal Death Eaters."

She didn't uncover much information about Regulus—his reputation among wizards was ruined, and turning him into a beetle was pointless; ordinary people wouldn't talk about a dead person so casually. She only found some publicly available information and pieced together the characteristics of a dozen or so famous ancestors of the Black family.

Therefore, the pure-blooded descendant of a noble family in the book is sometimes elegant and tolerant, and at other times cautious and sharp-tongued, somewhat like the person in front of her...

But the person whose name cannot even be mentioned is different. This is a grand drama she meticulously crafted. In order to win the honor of "best-selling book of the 20th century", the book was promoted abroad as "The Secret Past of the Second Dark Lord". She personally hinted to foreign publishers to connect the mysterious person with the big guy who is now imprisoned in the tower. She is adept at these little tricks and is very skilled at them.

Her long experience of voyeurism led her to believe one thing: although people may avoid talking about it, deep down everyone has a noisy little devil who wants to see unapproachable big shots come down from their pedestals or be kicked off them.

And she—Rita Skeeter—served as a stumbling block.

With this in mind, she filled the book with a wealth of real details, for which she had to painstakingly trace the mysterious man's past, especially his childhood, like a diligent beetle. This was a dangerous undertaking, and she carefully chose her entry point. After learning of several prominent surnames, she decisively focused her attention on the mysterious man's childhood—his life in an orphanage.

Coincidentally, she encountered Dumbledore, who was also interested in the childhood of the mysterious man. They met at the residence of an orphanage director, and Dumbledore made no mention of the potentially fatal danger she might face, only subtly advising her, "It's best not to do this..."

"That old bee that just buzzes around!" Rita Skeeter thought to herself, using a pun on Dumbledore's name.

How old is he again this year?

Rita Skeeter harbored secret, wicked thoughts, but the thought that with his profound magical powers, he might outlive her in the end, extinguished all her desires. Perhaps criticizing his school management in the newspapers, or describing him as a mad old man, would be fine, but digging into his true secrets while he was still alive was something she dared not do.

A scrutinizing gaze swept over her, making her gasp and shiver involuntarily. The roaring fireplace offered her little warmth, and her complex thoughts were instantly extinguished.

"You're asking me for advice?"

“To be honest, I don’t see any remorse in you… or perhaps you’re enjoying it?” Felix said softly. “That makes sense. You made the choice and you’re responsible for all the consequences.”

“No, that’s not it,” Rita Skeeter quickly said. “I know you have influence over some people, like the last one, Blake… just a word is all it takes—”

“Say hello?” Felix interrupted her. “If I understand correctly, you want me to sacrifice my friend’s interests to help someone—forgive me for being blunt, someone I don’t have much of a connection with?”

Skeeter's breath hitched suddenly.

“Squeak!” Valen cried indignantly in his arms.

Rita Skeeter lowered her stance even further, recounting all her experiences over the past few days. As she acted, she seemed to get into character, her usually unemotional eyes welling up with tears on her stiff face.

“I regret what happened to you,” Felix replied simply after listening. “But don’t say you’re innocent; everything you did was a decision you made while you were sober.”

“I know…” Rita Skeeter said slyly, “I brought some ‘sincerity’.” She held up her hands, showing him her long, bright red fingernails, which then clicked off her hands with a series of “click-click” sounds.

Ten fingernails, resembling small daggers, floated in front of Felix. Sniff tried to reach out and grab them, but Felix stopped her. He observed them through the air for a moment, then turned his head away without making a sound.

“I have three suggestions. You can choose to listen, or not listen, or listen to one or two. You are a smart person, Rita, you need to make your own judgment.”

"First, downplay the impact of that book. How far you go depends on your determination. But I need to remind you, Dumbledore won't be interested in the childhood of a dead man..."

"Secondly, I will contact Sirius and tell him that you agreed to write a biography of Regulus. He doesn't care about his own reputation, but he can't tolerate anyone tarnishing his brother's image. So, Rita, bring out your best writing skills."

"at last……"

Felix's slender fingers flickered slightly, and an Ouroboros Ring suddenly appeared, transforming into a small, black jade-like snake that darted in front of her with a "whoosh" and swam onto her bare finger before she could react.

Rita Skeeter stared blankly at the ring, meeting the eerie green eyes of the slithering snake.

“If you are in trouble with something that threatens your life, just rub this ring. Trust me, you will have plenty of time to send a distress signal—if those people take action because of your ‘offense,’ they won’t let you die so easily.”

Rita Skeeter exhaled, her expression becoming much more solemn. She bowed her head, took two steps back, and said respectfully, "I can do all three things, Mr. Hyp." Then she transformed back into a plump beetle and flew out of the castle.

Felix lowered his head in thought, took out a piece of parchment, and wrote a short note:

"Sirius, I know you're troubled by that annoying book, and that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."

Rita Skeeter just contacted me. This book will not be reprinted, but the several thousand copies already published may not be recovered. I arranged for Remus to acquire the remaining stock on the market a couple of days ago to try to minimize the impact.

In addition, she has agreed to write a biography of Regulus, and every word in it must be approved by you. You are free to hold her to the highest standards. I believe that you and Kreacher can provide enough detail to flesh out the characters in the book, but I suggest you omit the names of the Horcruxes, or postpone the publication of this part…

So you'd better not linger around Rita Skeeter's house. She's become very nervous, and I don't want to read in the paper that you've been sent to Azkaban while I'm having breakfast.

Also, if you want to become a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts next year, you'd better prepare in advance. I have a friend in the Muggle world who can arrange for you to be a teaching assistant for a period of time.

If interested, please contact Mr. Zacharias Clifton at the address…

After writing the letter, the flames in the fireplace suddenly turned a bright turquoise. Felix threw the parchment into the flames, and it spun and disappeared.

Coming to his senses, Valen stared at the bright red fingernails hanging in mid-air. "Oh, I can't give you those," Felix said, putting away the fingernails that held countless secrets.

His view on this thing was that it might never be used, but it might be used tomorrow.

He then twirled his wand, and a wisp of silver light flew from its tip. This light, like silver silk, wrapped around Valen's body and gradually materialized. Valen twisted his body, watching all this in amazement, as if countless invisible flower fairies were weaving clothes behind him, finally forming a silver cloak.

"Chirp?"

“One of the recent research findings is to reshape the guardian spirit and solidify it into a new entity,” Felix said with a smile. “You can give it a try.”

Valen blinked, looking at the glowing cloak behind him, pulling the hood up to reveal only half of his pink beak.

"Chirp! Chirp?"

It found itself floating. Valen looked at Felix in surprise. Felix neither drew his wand nor extended his finger, but simply smiled at it.

Valen twisted his body, causing the silver cloak behind him to flutter, and then it flew to the side of the office—

"Waaaaah!"

Before long, Valen had mastered the cloak behind him—it could be moved quickly by simply turning his head slightly.

The sniffler was having a blast, flying around the house and squealing with delight.

Felix kept thinking to himself that this magic was probably only usable by him, but he had actually mastered a flight magic, though it had some side effects and he didn't usually use it.

As for the principles and prototypes of the 'flying wings,' he had already handed them all over to Lupin.

Chapter 434 Before the game

Nothing major happened for the rest of January, but minor problems kept arising.

When Professor Moody returned to the classroom, he brought new controversy as expected. Some senior students said that he seemed to have the shadow of Lockhart - asking them to find information, read it aloud in class, and vividly recount their own experiences.

His famous quote, "Always be vigilant," appeared once again in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

During this time, the young wizards went to the library every day to search for information about the war from more than ten years ago. The previously quiet war records were unearthed, including various newspapers from more than ten years ago.

The young wizards were under increasing psychological pressure from seeing these things every day. Coupled with the wizarding level exams in the fifth and seventh grades, many students were in class when they suddenly burst into hysterical crying and were on the verge of collapse.

Even Fred and George, the two optimists, weren't happy. They breathed a sigh of relief when the Defense Against the Dark Arts class returned to 'normal'. One afternoon, Fred sniffled and said, "Mom and Dad rarely talked about the war. If one of them did, the other would interrupt. Mom also rarely talked about my two uncles... But when we looked through the newspapers from those years, we learned what kind of life they had..."

George said with lingering fear, "I see pictures of houses with the Black Magic symbol every two or three days, and it's given me a phobia."

Harry didn't want to say much because recently a trend had emerged where, ever since Professor Moody had his students read aloud the stories of those who died in the war, the descendants of some 'war heroes' were being looked at with awe.

Neville stammered repeatedly, explaining that his parents had recovered, and even showed his classmates the clippings and newspaper articles he had collected, but quite a few people still came to comfort him. Harry felt the same way; he suddenly noticed that Parvati Petit's expression towards him had softened again…

He disliked the feeling because every time someone looked at him like that, it reminded him of his parents' sacrifice. 'Nobody becomes a hero so their son can be worshipped,' Harry thought irritably.

He, Hermione, and Ron practiced spells in the abandoned classroom, gradually learning many useful spells. In a secluded corner, they broke a piece of ice on the Black Lake and tested their not-yet-skilled warming and waterproofing spells, emerging from the lake shivering each time.

By the time the ice on Black Lake melted, and Krum, wearing only shorts, practiced diving from the black sailboat's springboard, they had already figured out how to maintain their fighting capacity on Black Lake.

“Land spells are much less effective in water, especially fire magic. At most, it will shoot out a stream of scorching water, but it’s probably not as effective against Grindylow as the Expel Curse…” Hermione said nervously.

As February arrived, she became like this, glaring at Ron as if she were about to kick him when he suggested they could use their feet to shoo away the dangerous creatures.

“We might need some Transfiguration and Summoning Charms,” Hermione said.

"Are you planning to have us summon a stick?" Ron asked in surprise.

“Don’t talk nonsense, I meant this—” Hermione said, drawing her wand and shouting, “Flock of birds!” Her wand made a loud noise, and a flock of birds flew out from its tip, fluttering their wings and encircling the three of them.

“What’s the use of this?” Harry asked. He had seen the spell before. Before the first project began, Mr. Ollivander was invited to examine the warriors’ wands, and he used Krum’s wand to cast the spell.

“They can peck people and block vision, but I prefer Professor Flitwick’s approach,” Hermione said, struggling to maintain the magic, her face flushed red. Harry and Ron had never seen her exert so much effort when casting spells.

She was as if she were fighting against some invisible resistance. Her wand drew a semi-circle, and the birds suddenly swelled up to the size of owls. Harry's eyes widened. He had seen this scene in his second year, when Professor Flitwick demonstrated it in Duel Class.

Two years later, Harry was once again in close proximity to this magic, and he looked at the birds with trepidation as they stared at their long, sharp beaks, which were a full three inches long!

With another "bang," the birds disappeared.

Hermione, slightly out of breath, shook her head. "I still can't quite get the hang of it. Actually, I've always been pretty good at controlling magic, especially after practicing with Billy Wiggles at the Spellbook Club..."

As they returned to the castle from the Black Lake, Ron whispered to Harry, "From now on, she can just hide behind the rocks and chant spells. These little birds will solve all her problems, and you won't be able to do anything about it."

Harry thought about what had just happened and realized he couldn't agree anymore.

"How's your head-bubbling curse going?" Harry asked in a low voice.