A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 541: The Letter from Nurmengard

As Ginny posed her question, Mafalda's attention shifted for the first time. They stood there, one tall, one short, silently sizing each other up.

Harry noticed a resemblance between these two girls and Mrs. Weasley—both with a hint of red hair—but they were distinct. Ginny's fiery mane stood out even among the seven Weasley children, and she usually didn't have that intense stare. But now was an exception. She seemed ruffled, akin to a startled turkey suddenly placed on the dining table.

"I've met Aunt Molly, only once," Mafalda said. "But I've spent more time with your dad. He took me around Diagon Alley and got a few things in advance. He even got me an owl, and I wrote back to him. At first, he replied often, but then it slowed down."

"Maybe he's busy or perhaps you asked too many questions," Ginny said, deliberate and measured.

"Maybe. But I don't need him to accompany me. I can manage on my own," Mafalda said. "I persuaded my parents to allow me to visit Diagon Alley, to, as they say, 'get to know the wizarding world.'"

"I'm interested in everything in Diagon Alley. Tom's teashop, despite his toothless smile, makes delicious things. When I inquired about Madame Malkin's marital status, she threw me out... I even convinced the clerk at Flourish and Blotts to let me sit in a corner and read. I love 'The Simple Spells to Fool Muggles' and Gilderoy Lockhart's seven-part adventures. The former taught me a few spells that worked quite well, and the latter broadened my horizons..."

"Wait!" Harry felt her speech had reached an absurd point, and he wasn't alone. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all exclaimed simultaneously. Mafalda glared at them, a slightly comical scene that left everyone momentarily speechless.

"Alright, one at a time," sighed Hermione, realizing from the moment this girl confronted her with significant Death Eater information that she wasn't a conventional student. It had indeed startled them all.

She looked at Mafalda, patiently asking, "Miss Prewett, Mr. Weasley should have informed your parents that the wizarding world is currently unsettled. How did you manage to persuade your parents to let you visit Diagon Alley alone?" She wanted to criticize Mafalda's parents for their lack of responsibility.

"They don't really keep in touch," Mafalda gestured between herself and Ginny, signifying both sets of parents. "My dad and Aunt Molly are related, but their relationship seems strained. You can tell from their awkward conversations—"

"That's what I wanted to say," Ron interjected. All eyes turned to him as he nervously continued, "Mom does have a distant cousin, but we rarely hear about him..."

"Dad is a bit of an oddball, even though he won't admit it... He's an accountant now, dabbles in stocks occasionally. Mom's a Muggle, and they had no connections to the magical world before. Except for me," Mafalda added.

"But—" Hermione was conflicted, "Even so, Mr. Weasley couldn't have neglected to mention—"

"Oh, that's simple. I told my parents—someone behind the Leaky Cauldron's door is waiting for me, that person being Bill Weasley. I know he works at Diagon Alley," Mafalda glanced smugly at Hermione.

Hermione was shocked. Ginny emitted an angry cat-like sound.

"So, you lied?"

Mafalda shrugged, the answer apparent.

The abandoned classroom fell silent for a moment. Harry asked, "Do you know that Lockhart is a, well, a..." He hesitated.

"A fraud?" Mafalda asked. Harry nodded. She calmly continued, "I like the way he tells stories, that's all."

The interrogation ended there. Even though Ron and Ginny didn't particularly like Mafalda, they reluctantly accepted her as family.

"What's your purpose in coming here today?" Ginny asked sternly, "You know Gryffindor and Slytherin are archenemies. If someone finds out—"

"That's why I came secretly," Mafalda unpleasantly replied, taking a green notebook from her pocket—Harry noticed it was a product from the Muggle world. She flipped through a page but kept it to herself, saying, "I can provide information about Slytherin House and the Death Eaters... but as an exchange—"

"Death Eaters?" Harry, Ron, and Ginny exclaimed.

The three turned to Hermione, who hurriedly waved her hands, "I know as much as you do, she—" Hermione realized the problem—a Muggle-born girl who had no prior knowledge of the wizarding world, what information could she possess?

"What's wrong?" Mafalda looked at them oddly, "Is it that hard to understand? Let me continue—of course, I won't do this for free. As a condition, you must become the protagonists in my story."

Harry looked puzzled. What did that even mean?

"Protagonists in what?" he asked.

"In my story," Mafalda gestured at him with her finger, "Haven't I told you? I like history and writing. You know Bathilda Bagshot, right?"

Harry reluctantly nodded. He knew her—a remarkable historian, the author of the textbook they used for History of Magic classes, retired and living in Godric's Hollow. Godric's Hollow... his heart skipped a beat.

Mafalda didn't notice Harry's unease. She continued from her previous point, "Bathilda Bagshot wrote 'A History of Magic.' There's a line of hers I particularly agree with, 'The happiest thing for a historian is to converse with history itself.'"

"Do you understand what that means?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I'm doing it right now," Mafalda said.

Ron pondered and slowly said, "So, you want to write us into your story? Um—didn't you say you liked Lockhart's books?" He glanced meaningfully at them, "Think about it."

"Harry wouldn't agree!" Ginny raised her eyebrows, uncertainly looking at Harry, "Right?"

"Of course," Harry firmly nodded. He didn't want someone tagging along behind him, especially after dealing with the Creevey brothers. He firmly addressed Mafalda, "Sorry, I've got a lot on my plate this year—O.W.Ls exams, Quidditch, clubs... I don't have time for playing pretend with you."

Mafalda blinked, and just when Harry thought she would give up, she lowered her head to stare at the open notebook in front of her. She recited a list of names from it, "Nott, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy... oh, I'm not sure. Should I keep going?"

Harry's mouth fell open, Ron's wasn't much smaller, and Hermione wore a shocked expression.

Mafalda watched their faces, smiling.

"Seems like I hit the mark, right?"

"How did you guess—" Harry struggled. These names were directly from Voldemort's mouth in the graveyard. Each of

these surnames held significant positions in the wizarding world. But before Voldemort, they had cowered, kissing Voldemort's robes for forgiveness.

Sirius had told him that, due to a lack of evidence, the Ministry couldn't arrest them, resorting to surveillance for now. Of course, his exact words were different, Sirius was just as furious about it as Harry: "Amelia won't agree to dose them with Veritaserum... unless we want chaos in the wizarding world. And if we do that, we'd better start with ourselves..." He gloomily remarked, "Pure-bloods, they're a whole bag of trouble."

Mafalda laughed like a fox. "The Prewett surname surprisingly holds weight and doesn't attract attention like Weasley does. So, you see, I'd make an excellent spy, for the sake of... justice, how about it?"

"I disagree," Harry said slowly.

"Why?" Mafalda asked, surprised. She hadn't expected rejection after showcasing her abilities.

"Harry, if a Slytherin student is willing to help us, even if—" Ron started.

"No," Harry said, "No." He repeated, "What if she's caught?"

"Don't worry," Mafalda interjected, "From my observations over the past month, Slytherin House isn't quite as the rumors portray it..."

"Do you even understand what you're doing? It's not just dealing with awful students, but potentially real Death Eaters! If any Slytherin mentions you to their family or investigates you behind your back... is your cleverness still useful?" Harry glared at her, an inexplicable anger surging within, "You're putting your family in danger, and they don't even know magic."

Mafalda pointed defiantly at Hermione, "As far as I know, her family background isn't much different from mine."

Hermione stayed silent.

"Because she didn't have a choice—" Harry's blood surged to his face.

"I know you mean her Muggle heritage—"

"Not just that, but because she's my friend," Harry said lowly. He stared at Mafalda, his chest tight, "Yes, she's the famous Harry Potter's friend, and Ron, he didn't have a choice either, standing by my side since first year... I had no choice, tied to Voldemort since I was a baby. If nothing goes wrong, one of us has to die, or both."

Mafalda froze.

"I didn't—"

"I'm not sure what you're taking the undercover work for. If it's just a prank, so be it, but you have potential, I can see that. That's worse. Have you ever thought you'd one day see a photo of your own house turned into ruins in the newspaper, marked with the Dark Mark?"

"I'm not—You're wrong!" Mafalda shouted.

"Then explain," Harry said, lowering his gaze to meet her eyes.

Mafalda glared back unyieldingly, her eyes glistening with determination. "Just you wait!" She shot them a hateful look and stormed off.

Harry watched her go, but his thoughts were on the photo of Godric's Hollow he'd stumbled upon in an old newspaper. It depicted ruins, just as Moody had described... There were white flowers and candles by the wreckage, left by sympathetic wizards. "In solemn remembrance..." the article said. Harry found it all meaningless; his family would never return.

Sometimes, lying in bed, Harry wished he had the Resurrection Stone, even if it didn't work as Luna confidently claimed, to bring back the dead, just to see their souls, not just the green light and his mother's pleading voice in his mind...

"Harry, you better be careful. She looks like trouble," Ron said, looking towards the classroom door.

"I don't care," Harry replied curtly.

Suddenly, something struck Harry. Luna believed in the Deathly Hallows. Did she, too, have someone she desperately wanted to see? And yes, she could also see Thestrals.

"She seems pretty sharp, I mean Mafalda," Ron hesitated before saying, "We've also recruited other students into the dueling group. I believe they wouldn't refuse to fight Death Eaters—"

"She's eleven," Harry said coldly, and Ron immediately fell silent. After a while, Harry, belatedly, asked, "She said Slytherin had changed... What's that about?"

Ron grumbled, "The only person who knew just got chased off by you. Shall we ask Malfoy?"

Harry felt a pang of regret; he should've clarified first.

...

At night, Felix continued his promising work as a bounty hunter. Apart from the first visit to the Hog's Head where he had a slight altercation with the barkeep, most times he stood by the door cloaked in black, and soon enough, the targets would 'walk' out themselves.

Hog's Head had recently gained a legend of a powerful ghost.

Of course, as the missing were dark wizards, the worst kind, very few genuinely cared—these individuals hid their identities and reasons, possibly leaving abruptly due to urgent matters.

Some wizards fervently claimed to have seen a ghost possessing immense magic, capable of stealing one's soul with just a gesture.

"He's Death incarnate," an elderly wizard, fascinated by horror tales, said.

His performance garnered applause, earning him a hot firewhisky. The barkeep at the Hog's Head scoffed disdainfully and continued wiping the dirty goblets.

Occasionally, Felix took a break to visit the yet-to-be-completed site.

In the center of the Hogsmeade village square lay heaps of construction materials, arranged artfully with black and white marble, adorned with mysterious star patterns. Intrigued, Felix stood at the center of the stars, surveying the surroundings. The entire wizarding village was cloaked in a deep night, with only a few sparse stars.

Felix stared into the darkness when faint footsteps approached, too light to discern.

Through the Thestral's vision, the unidentified figure appeared blurred, even indistinct in the darkness, only a vague glow encircling it, faintly resembling a frail house-elf.

It was a pair of eyes distinct from the usual and magical visions. If one had to define, it seemed to perceive souls emitting light.

"Good evening, Mr. Harp, Bondy sends regards."

The house-elf squeaked, halting from a distance, bowing deeply to Felix. When it raised its head to meet Felix's silver-gray eyes, it involuntarily shuddered; there was something intimidating about his gaze.

"Is there something, Bondy?"

"Mr. Harp, Bondy brings a letter for you. I'm sorry, but Bondy can't enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the house-elf bowed deeply again, "Bondy waited nearby for days and finally saw you."

Felix felt a sense of déjà vu with this scene, but last time, it was a child delivering Voldemort's invitation to a duel. He accepted the letter; a triangular symbol adorned the envelope: a circle with a vertical line. He studied it for a few seconds, speculating, "Nurmengard?"

The house-elf bent even lower.

Felix opened the non-magically sealed letter, finding a simple line: "You're lying; the Elder Wand isn't yours."

Felix couldn't help but smirk, "Indeed, the Elder Wand isn't mine, but it isn't yours either, Mr. Dark Lord." He tentatively asked the house-elf, Bondy, "May I meet Mr. Grindelwald?"

"He currently has no plans to receive visitors," Bondy said respectfully.

Felix clicked his tongue; it seemed Gellert Grindelwald was still locked up but occasionally had external communication. Like writing accusing letters to him...

Was this the fate of the first Dark Lord?

Dumbledore was too kind; Felix felt he wouldn't give Voldemort a chance for similar treatment.

He wrote a brief reply, regretting the inability to meet him (or was it mockery?), and handed over a few books from his ring to the house-elf, "Pass these to Mr. Grindelwald; they'll keep him... occupied. If he's interested, we can communicate through letters."

He gave the house-elf a copper knut, "You can reach me through this."

As Bondy disappeared, Felix began to anticipate; what would be the magical path of this Dark Lord? What kind of charisma did he possess?

After lingering for a while, he fretted if his response in the letter had been too mocking. What if the Dark Lord was touchy? He chuckled at the thought and walked away.

...

The last two weeks of October were filled with raging storms, and as they neared their end, a chilling rain brought the temperature down, prompting young witches and wizards to don thicker clothing against the biting wind.

Many students wore gloves even during breaks, but their minds were increasingly active: Halloween, the first Quidditch match, and an ancient runes exchange event were looming in the coming week.

With Halloween approaching, the castle adorned itself once more with colorful decorations, lifting the spirits within the school.

Finally, the day arrived on October 27th.

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