Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle

Principal's office.

On the shelf, the phoenix Fawkes was curled up in a tattered cloth hat, with his legs curled up and pecking his head. Although he was too sleepy to open his eyes, he couldn't fall asleep again after waking up. His dark eyes stared at the old wizard's messy silver hair, revealing a human-like complaining look, and his short beak opened and made a "cluck cluck" complaint.

Chattering incessantly, like an old hen incubating eggs.

Portraits of past principals have also sobered up.

Some of the frames were empty, the portraits were no longer inside, and some had even left last night and probably wouldn't be back during the holiday. The empty frames made the other principals' portraits envious.

Portraits of the same wizards are linked together. For example, Madam DeVante was not only the headmistress of Hogwarts but also the headmistress of St. Mungo's Hospital, allowing her to travel back and forth between the hospital and the school. Several headmasters also have portraits in their families, allowing them to travel abroad during holidays.

For them, this was a sign of the family's continued existence. Some headmasters came from once-renowned pure-blood families, but no one had heard of them now. For example, Headmaster Phineas Black hadn't had any descendants enrolled in school for many years. Perhaps the Black family line had already died out.

The portraits huddled together, talking in low voices, their eyes fixed on the round table with spindly legs, where a dozen or so exquisite silver items were placed, swirling and emitting small puffs of smoke.

The early rising principal was unpacking his Christmas parcel.

One by one, the beautifully bound books were unpacked. The pages were thick, and each one was a massive volume with profound content. Just the title alone would make one lose interest in reading: "A Manual for Taming Dangerous Magical Creatures: Stings and Scales," "The Seven Doors of Alchemy," "Fluids and Frameworks: The Philosophical Paradox of Transfiguration," "How to Escape Gracefully When a Spell Backfires," "My Magical Self"...

Almost all the gifts were books, including books given by professors at school. Only Melvin gave a bag of Muggle whistle candies. The hollow ring candies made a slight whistling sound when put in the mouth.

Dumbledore tasted one and finally felt a little happier.

Putting aside the thick books that he didn't want to read just because of the titles, the old principal reached out and opened the book "My Magical Me".

Opening the cover, a brilliant smile came into view, and the wizard in a sky blue suit showed his white teeth.

The following is a long introduction to the author: Gilderoy Lockhart, Third Class Order of Merlin, Honorary Member of the Anti-Dark Arts League, and four-time winner of the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award...

"what……"

The portraits of the headmasters behind him all showed disgusted expressions, but Dumbledore read with great interest. He flipped through a few pages and put the book in the place closest to him, intending to read it slowly when he had time.

Next is replying to letters from old friends.

"Ms. Marchbank and Mr. Tofty of the Wizarding Examinations Authority...

"Amelia Bones at the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody...

"And yours sincerely, Minister Cornelius Fudge..."

"..."

Dumbledore would read every letter carefully and reply seriously, even if some were just ordinary holiday greetings. After all, many old friends were getting old, and every communication now might be the last.

The centenarian wizard had experienced this many times.

Newt Scamander, who lived in seclusion in Dorset, sent his regards, mentioning that his grandson, Rolf, would be starting school next year and hoping for help in looking after him. Nicolas Flamel, who was temporarily living in Paris, casually inquired about the progress of the Philosopher's Stone project and offered to contact him anytime if he needed any help.

Molly, who was traveling, enclosed a box of fudge with the letter. The letter mentioned that she and her husband were going to Romania to visit their second son Charlie this year, and that the other children would stay in school during the holidays, and she hoped that the principal would discipline them strictly.

Soon only the last letter remained.

Dumbledore took the envelope in his hand, his eyes complicated as he quietly studied the marks on the kraft paper, but was hesitant to open it.

The envelope was a little dirty, even creased, and covered in mud and dust. The sealing wax on the letter was dark red and black, as if it were dried and solidified rat plasma.

The envelope was worn and had a strange smell.

Dumbledore stared at the envelope for a long time, but in the end he did not open it. He opened the drawer and put the letter into a wooden box.

Due to the limited viewing angle and distance, the portraits of past principals on the wall behind could not see the information on the envelope, and could only vaguely see the seal on the wax.

Nurmengard-Send

Chapter 51 Christmas Party

Eleven o'clock in the morning.

The weather was clear and cold.

Melvin sat by the window with a subtle expression.

In his hand was a storybook with exquisite binding and illustrations, which was the "Tales of Toadstools" given by Dumbledore.

These short stories are not original content, but are collected by the editor. Many of them are collected from wizard taverns in the late 17th century, when the Statute of Secrecy had just been introduced and wizards generally hated Muggles. These circulating stories were full of the stench of alcohol and prejudice.

The original text tells the story of a kind old wizard educating his indifferent son by using a jumping pot to let him experience the suffering of Muggles. In the end, the young wizard wakes up and is willing to use his magic to help his Muggle neighbors.

But in this book, the originally warm and simple story has been greatly adapted and distorted. At the end of the story, the Hopping Pot eats dozens of Muggle villagers, and the young wizard rules the village.

"The warty cauldron slowly moved, a gurgling sound like a stomach gurgling came from within, and a sticky mass of Muggle matter, melted by stomach acid, spurted out of the mouth of the pot.

The blacksmith's head, holding a rake, protruded from the mass of flesh, his jaw dislocated and hanging from his chest. His limbs, a bloody mess, could barely be discerned. The priest's spine was twisted like a knot, his hands still tightly grasping the broken cross. They groaned wetly.

"The few remaining villagers promised never to interfere with wizards performing magic again..."

Melvin closed the book and wanted to cast a forgetfulness spell on himself. When he closed his eyes, the illustrations printed with the developing potion could still appear in his mind.

What a cult fairy tale.

Doesn't the Ministry of Magic have any censorship system?

Melvin rubbed his brow, stood up, and left the office. The portraits on the corridor walls were also celebrating. In the painting of the Drunken Friar, a group of portraits gathered together, holding a banquet. Sir Cadogan leaned against the wall to rest, feeling dazed. It was unknown how much he had drunk.

The Christmas party in the auditorium had not yet begun. Melvin went down to the first floor and turned right, intending to go to the courtyard to get some fresh air and clear the cult images from his mind.

The open-air courtyard was already covered in snow. The tops of the bushes and trees were covered with snow, and the stone benches were also covered with snow. Because the students had left school, the stone road through the courtyard was untrodden and covered with a thick layer of snow, which sparkled in the sunlight.

Professor Flitwick stood at the side of the corridor, looking sometimes at the snow and sometimes at his feet.

At his feet was Mrs. Norris, the administrator's cat, eager to bask in the sun but afraid of the cold, lying on the top of his shoe, its hind paws tucked in, its front paws tucked under its body. Its tail was wrapped around the professor's ankle, whether to absorb heat or to keep him warm.

Melvin walked over and said, "Merry Christmas, Professor Flitwick."

"Merry Christmas, Melvin. I love your gift." Professor Flitwick looked up to greet him, then glanced down at the sleepy cat. Mrs. Norris half-opened her eyes and slowly closed them again. "Last time you spent Christmas at Ilvermorny, right? This year you're at Hogwarts. How's it going? Are you adjusting?"

"Hogwarts is great, the temperature here is a little warmer."

Melvin felt a little nostalgic, it had been a year.

At that time, there was still more than half a year before the boy who survived the disaster received the acceptance letter. The horned water snake was hibernating, and people thought it would not wake up until the next spring. However, it suddenly woke up from hibernation on Christmas Eve, muttering that fate was telling it that it had to leave before spring.

I don't know if that guy foresaw this.

The sky was a clear blue, and the sunlight felt a hint of warmth on my body, but the thick ice and snow were even harsher, and the coldness eroded the exposed skin. Suddenly, a cold wind blew, and the slight warmth dissipated.

"call……"

Melvin exhaled a cloud of white mist.

The cat crawling on the half-blood fairy professor's shoe shrank for a while, its tail trembled even more tightly, and its front paws dug hard into it. The cat was basking in the sun not for warmth, but simply for the rare sunshine in winter, even though there was no temperature.

"It's a bit cold. I'll go in first."

"it is good."

Professor Flitwick responded, continuing to look down at the silly cat.

Melvin walked into the room and found that the auditorium had been decorated yesterday.

Twelve tall fir trees were adorned with crystal ornaments and small ice beads. Golden bubbles floated in the treetops, shimmering and glittering, while the leaves shimmered in a dreamlike hue. The walls were draped with hanging ribbons of holly and mistletoe, and hundreds of candles flickered in the air.

There were only a dozen students staying in school, six of whom were from Gryffindor. Except for a few Slytherin students, everyone else gathered around the Gryffindor table, watching Harry and Ron play wizard chess.

Everyone around was helping Harry with his plans, while Ron opposite him had an impudent smile on his face, looking like a hateful villain.

Several other professors who stayed on campus had already arrived and taken their seats. Dumbledore sat in the center of the main guest seat, wearing a women's knitted warm hat with a flower pinned to the brim. He smiled and beckoned him over.

Melvin walked up to the guest of honor seat and greeted the professors who passed by:

"Happy holidays, Professor McGonagall, the book you gave me is very inspiring.

“It’s nice to smell tulips in the winter, Professor Sprout.

"Thank you for the fang, Hagrid.

"Happy holidays, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Dumbledore heard the difference between himself and others, blinked, and pondered for a moment: "Melvin, I really like the candy you gave me."

"My pleasure."

Melvin was polite, ignoring the principal's expectant look. Instead of discussing the cult storybook, he looked at the empty seat next to him and asked, "Where are the other professors?"

"Sybill is drunk and resting in her room," Professor McGonagall explained calmly. "Professor Quirrell is still ill and is recuperating in the infirmary. However, Poppy is on vacation, and the infirmary is empty, so Severus offered to help look after her."

"You are so conscientious..."

About twenty minutes later.

Professor Flitwick followed Mrs. Norris into the hall and the banquet officially began.

As Dumbledore knocked the goblet with a silver spoon, all kinds of delicious food appeared out of thin air. The table was suddenly filled with roast turkey, roast steak, cream soup and other foods, as well as bottles of sherry, whiskey, soda water and various juices.

Ron's mouth was already full of roasted chicken legs.

But Harry's mind wasn't entirely focused on the table. This was his first real Christmas, and while he was overjoyed, many thoughts raced through his mind: Who was Nicolas Flamel? What was beneath the room in the fourth-floor corridor? What was Snape and Quirrell plotting?

And who gave you that invisibility cloak this morning?

Harry raised his head while cutting the steak and quietly observed the guest of honor seat above. His expression suddenly became dull.

Hagrid, who had drunk himself, actually kissed Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall, who usually had a serious face, didn't care. She laughed so hard at his jokes that her black top hat tilted askew.

Chapter 52 After the Show

Harry turned around blankly, wanting to talk to Ron about this horrifying scene, but he only saw Ron swallowing the chicken leg in his mouth and quietly handing him a glass of fruit wine.

Sweet fruity and winey aroma.

Harry picked up the glass and took a sip quietly. Before he could savor it carefully, he saw George and Fred pouring wine not far away.

Oh no! This is something the twins handled, you can’t drink it!

But it is really delicious...sweet and sour, with aromas of apple and blueberry, a wine aroma without a booze taste, and neither spicy nor astringent.

After careful observation, Harry confirmed that the fruit wine was fine. The Weasley twins took it from the guest of honor seat while the professor was not paying attention. It was not a prank prop.

After finishing half a glass of wine, Harry let down his guard against the twins and continued to enjoy the Christmas dinner.

"tasty?"