A certain Hogwarts professor of runes.

“Felix, you can call me by my name,” Professor Flitwick waved his hand. “We’re colleagues now, aren’t we?”

“Well… alright, Felix,” Felix said.

“Me too, Felix. We don’t need to be so polite in private,” Professor McGonagall said.

So Felix said to her, "Minerva." The Transfiguration professor smiled kindly at him.

Then he turned to look at Snape, who stared back at him expressionlessly, his eyes as if he were looking at a stone.

But Felix knew him best, and he drawled, "Ah, Severus..."

Snape's lips trembled with anger.

Flitwick suddenly became interested in the view outside the window, while Professor McGonagall looked around the interior decorations with great interest.

Their eyes were filled with smiles.

The awkward atmosphere didn't last long, and a woman with a slender figure and beautiful face walked over.

"A small cup of canyon water—"

“Mine,” Professor McGonagall’s voice said.

"A serving of sherry juice soda with ice and whelks—"

“Hmm! Thank you, Rosmerta,” Professor Flitwick said, smacking his lips.

"A glass of water—"

Snape silently took it.

Ms. Rosmerta looked at the newly arrived Felix. "What would you like, sir? Oh wait, you're Felix Heap?"

Felix looked at her with a puzzled expression.

He did come to "Three Brooms" when he was in school, but apart from ordering drinks, he never spoke to her.

Rosmerta looked at him: "Mr. Hyp, you have no idea how famous you were back in school. Lots of people sat here discussing your exploits..."

Felix quipped, "I guess it wasn't anything nice?"

“No, many people admire you.” She didn’t elaborate, but chuckled softly. “Besides, a good reputation and a bad reputation are inseparable friends—inviting one over always means bringing the other along. What would you like some drinks?”

"A butterbeer, I still prefer this."

Flitwick extended an invitation, "Have a drink too, ma'am, and sit with us."

Rosmerta glanced at the few scattered tables of customers in the tavern. "Okay, thank you."

A little while later, she returned and handed Felix a glass of butterbeer.

Rosmerta sat in the empty seat next to him, a glass of gin in front of her.

The woman, a smooth talker, took a few sips of her drink and then a nostalgic expression crossed her face: "Over the years of running this tavern, my greatest pleasure has been listening to the conversations of my customers. Of course, not eavesdropping; in this kind of setting, they won't be sharing any secrets..."

"We understand what you mean."

"Yes, young wizards come and go, only the most outstanding ones leave their mark and become memorable. Let me think, the most famous in recent years is definitely Mr. Hyp, but there are actually some others..."

Rosmerta said a name: “Bill Weasley, shouldn’t he be in the same year as you?” She looked at Felix.

"Yes."

“I remember he got twelve excellent grades in the OWLs exam, which was a big deal at the time,” Rosmerta said. “And his brother, who was apparently the captain of the Quidditch team, later went off to raise dragons.”

Professor McGonagall, her face stern, remained unconvinced: "He should join the national team; Charlie has the potential."

“But that’s not what he wanted, Minerva,” Flitwick said. “As professors, we should be proud of him.”

“I do—” McGonagall blushed and stammered, “I just feel it’s a pity that the national team hasn’t had any good prospects in recent years.”

She has always been a huge Quidditch fan.

“There’s also a little girl named Tonks, whose disguise as Magus is quite distinctive,” Rosmerta said. “Thinking about it, many of them are Gryffindor’s young wizards.”

Flitwick said somewhat awkwardly, "Ravenclaw also has many excellent graduates."

Rosmerta blinked. “Of course. They are active in all walks of life and are undoubtedly among the best.”

Snape snorted: "Mrs. Rosmerta, I must remind you that Slytherin has the fewest members, yet has won the most House Cups."

“Severus! Last year’s House Cup belonged to Gryffindor, and it’s highly likely to be this year too—” Professor McGonagall retorted, unconvinced.

Snape scoffed.

Seeing that the deans were about to start arguing, Rosmerta quickly said, "It's true that every college has many excellent students. By the way, what were you talking about just now?"

Flitwick tried to smooth things over, saying, "We were talking about Morculus Belby, Severus. You should have seen the recipe for the wolfsbane potion, right?"

“I see it. It’s cleverly designed, but I don’t think there’s any point in researching this kind of potion.”

"At least the werewolf problem is solved, isn't it?"

“From a political point of view—indeed, it fills a void.” Snape gave his usual sarcastic look. “But unless the price of the potion drops below seven Galleons, a chain will do the trick.”

In the wizarding world, werewolves are basically synonymous with poverty, and no one wants to hire them. So werewolves either live in seclusion or associate with evil.

"As it stands, the wolfsbane potion can only alleviate the pain of the full moon transformation and keep the werewolf sane, but it cannot cure the werewolf," Felix said, adding that he learned this from his communications with Morklis.

Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue. "But it's not bad either. If back then—" She glanced at Snape and stopped herself.

She thought of her former student, Remus Lupin, who was also a werewolf, but Lupin and Snape had a terrible relationship.

Although Rosmerta was curious, she wisely did not ask any further questions. The conversation continued, and after a while, she got up to greet the other guests.

For the next period of time, the professors discussed their respective teaching methods.

Felix spoke about the recently concluded dueling course, expressing his disappointment with the overall level of the young wizards. He said, "The Disarm Charm isn't actually that difficult, but very few people have mastered it."

After questioning him in detail, Flitwick offered a different perspective.

“Felix, they probably just don’t understand the concept of fighting. If you ask me, any random upperclassman would know more evil curses than you would expect.”

Felix paused, this was a point he hadn't considered before. When he was in school, he had absolutely no interest in useless little curses.

"You mean they don't know the disarming spell because they don't know it?"

"Or rather, they don't value it. After all, the effect of this spell doesn't please the young wizards." Flitwick was an experienced spells professor who understood the mindset of young wizards very well: "Only those exaggerated and hilarious little curses are their favorites."

Flitwick counted on his fingers, “Tripping curse, bump curse, tickling curse, front teeth like a big stick, slug curse… there are too many. Despite the school’s strict prohibition, these spells have been passed down from generation to generation among the young wizards.”

Felix said knowingly, "Perhaps I should tell the young wizard the difference between dueling magic and minor curses. Severus, what do you think?"

Snape didn't speak, but that meant he agreed.

Then, Flitwick asked Felix if he could join the next dueling class.

“I was a dueling champion when I was young,” he said somewhat shyly. “Don’t worry, it’s just one lesson. I just want to share my experience with the young wizards.”

Felix looked at Flitwick and said cheerfully, "Of course, Felix."

Professor McGonagall couldn't help but chime in, "If you don't mind, Felix, I'd also like to demonstrate to the young wizards how Transfiguration can be used in duels."

Chapter 97 Confession and Seeking Help

When Felix returned to the castle, a satisfied smile was on his face.

With several professors joining, my dueling course is growing stronger. Perhaps I can bring in other professors to try it out later?

Especially that afternoon, when he received the text message from the owl 'White Fresh'—

"Dear Felix Heap, my investiture ceremony is tentatively scheduled for 10:00 AM on Saturday, February 4th, in Room 3 on the second floor of the Ministry of Magic (to the left of the Wizengamot Office). I cordially invite you to attend. —Moklis Belby"

Felix wrote his reply and estimated the timeframe: about two weeks.

That evening, after Felix finished tutoring Hermione Granger in runes, he handed the little witch a glass of pumpkin juice.

Generally, after the spell class, the assistant will stay in the office for about ten minutes, partly to relieve the fatigue from the mind box, and partly to chat about interesting topics or answer some questions.

Today, they mentioned Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.

Hermione, holding her cup, asked, "Professor, what's your opinion of Lockhart?"

What's your opinion?

"It's about my opinion of him personally, his teaching, the books he's written, and so on..."

Felix glanced at Hermione. His assistant had been on the job for almost half a year, and he was very familiar with her speaking habits. This was one of the ways she was trying to extract information.

“Professor Lockhart is a very talkative and expressive person, which is different from me, even though we are both writers.”

Hermione pressed on, "So what's your opinion of his books? You must have read them, right?"

“I have seen it,” Felix said. “It wasn’t very useful to me, but for students, the methods for dealing with and identifying dangers are still quite valuable.”

“Actually, I quite admire his approach of integrating knowledge into stories, and maybe I’ll imitate it in the future.” Felix looked at Hermione with interest, her eyebrows furrowing.

“But—” she stammered, “don’t you think his books and his classroom performances are completely different, with a strong sense of disconnect?”

“Perhaps,” Felix commented noncommittally. “Obviously, there are fictional and ambiguous elements in his book, but we can only blame his private life; at least he did a lot of research when he wrote it.”

“But what if,” Hermione said nervously, beads of sweat forming on her face, “his story was stolen from someone else’s mind?”

There was a brief silence in the office—

“This is a very serious accusation, Miss Granger. If your claims are true, then the person who committed this act should be imprisoned in Azkaban,” Felix said sternly.

“Granger, I need evidence.”

Hermione, trembling, pulled a stack of crumpled parchment from her wizard robes.

“This is…this is what we found in Professor Lockhart’s office,” she said with difficulty. Ron was the one who did it, but she and Harry had decided that they couldn’t put all the blame on him.

Felix glanced at her with some surprise. He understood why his assistant had been assigned to Gryffindor; she was a restless and irritable witch.

The kind of person who would barge into a professor's office at the slightest provocation.

Thinking about it now, my practice of placing the Binding Vine at the door every time I leave the office was truly prescient.

He flipped through the document, and a name on it caught his attention: "Armenian Visit to an Old Wizard (Note: Werewolf Adventure)".

"Why are there two different handwritings?" He glanced through the pages and quickly realized the problem.

There were more than twenty pages of parchment, most of which were in Hermione's own neat handwriting, with only three pages in a different handwriting.

"We, I..." Hermione swallowed hard. It was too embarrassing for her to admit how she had broken the school rules.