A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

As the dinner neared its end and the students had their fill, the hall buzzed with conversation.

More and more noticed the absence of Headmaster Dumbledore, their eyes darting towards the teachers' table, speculation spreading, an uneasy restlessness creeping through the air.

Felix silently observed the scene, Professor Flitwick's sharp voice reaching his ears from two seats away.

"Mafalda, is there something keeping Headmaster Dumbledore busy?"

"I'm not sure," Professor McGonagall tightened her lips, hands wringing together in visible conflict. She gazed at the students murmuring in the hall, then suddenly stood up.

"Students—"

Her voice carried, and gradually, the hall quieted down, McGonagall cleared her throat, about to speak, when there was a commotion near the entrance.

McGonagall relaxed as Dumbledore appeared.

He stood at the entrance, silhouetted against the dimly lit foyer, his silver hair and beard gleaming under the glow of pumpkin lanterns.

Dumbledore smiled, traversing the spaces between tables with large strides, conversations sparked up again, but this time the atmosphere was light and jovial. Dumbledore stood on his starry chair, and Harry keenly noticed he was wearing the white gloves again and had stowed away the black gemstone ring.

"His beard's back to its color," Hermione whispered.

Harry, however, focused solely on Dumbledore's prominent purple robe and the white gloves, wondering about the hand concealed within. He hardly paid attention to the beard's change. "Sorry, what did you say?" he asked absently.

"Dumbledore's beard was different during the battle," Hermione murmured, stretching her neck to observe, "but now it's back."

"Really?" Ron poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, patting his filled stomach contentedly.

"I saw it too," Neville said quietly. "During the battle, it turned darker, a sort of iron-gray, resembling, well, the bartender at the Hog's Head!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione redirected their attention to Neville, who nodded earnestly.

"Probably some kind of enchantment," Ron said uneasily.

"I wish that were true," Hermione said, "but I haven't read about it in any book... Unless the Headmaster used an advanced human transfiguration."

"Definitely," Ron affirmed.

"But why would Headmaster Dumbledore do that?" Harry asked, puzzled. One important lesson he learned from the Dueling Club was to avoid unnecessary actions during a fight. He glanced back at the teachers' table.

Dumbledore didn't sit directly. He stood before his chair, surveying the students in the hall. The room fell silent once again as everyone eagerly watched him.

"Ah, my apologies. There have been too many mentions of my name in the newspapers lately. I decided to cut out those parts referencing me," Dumbledore blinked, "Owls from around the world have flooded my office, and these little fellows have a penchant for anything shiny. I had to clear the silverware from my desk... It was only after sorting all that out that I realized the dinner had already begun."

"I hope you understand, time is both the most precious and the most easily overlooked thing for an old man. This was especially evident to me when I was playing Ten-Pillar Roll Game..."

He sat down without partaking in any food, instead smiling around the hall. A while later, as the last round of desserts vanished from the tables, the feast came to an end.

Students slowly rose. Their movements sluggish, lazily making their way towards the exit, resembling a group of sloths foraging for food. The professors also stood up. ŗаŊȏ₿ËṤ

"Severus," Dumbledore politely said, "could you stay for a moment? I have something to discuss with you."

The two departed.

Once most others had left, Hagrid retrieved his wooden crate from under the table, exchanged greetings with Felix and Valen the Niffler, and swiftly left.

"Everyone's acting strange," Valen grumbled.

"Are you all right?" Felix asked.

"Fine," Valen replied vaguely. "Just detention... Not that it bothers me, used to it."

A blurry, distant voice floated from behind them.

"If it were me, I couldn't bear it. To be kept for observation at school—it's too humiliating."

Valen stared at Professor Trelawney. "Excuse me? I don't think I've met you. Are you a professor here?"

Trelawney seemed greatly offended, throwing her shawl over her shoulder and stomping away.

"She's Sybill Trelawney, the Divination professor. You've seen her several times..." Felix's tone was enigmatic; in fact, he felt peculiar about this professor—knowing that two prophecies he knew of had been made by Trelawney.

"I know," Valen replied without hesitation. "I even helped Harry with a Divination assignment, you know, brainstorming ideas. Kids these days seem a bit lacking in imagination..."

Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry slumped in a soft armchair, feeling drowsy, gazing at the room's ceiling. His hand found a rolled-up newspaper between the seat cushions.

He picked it up and saw a picture of Dumbledore grabbing his shoulder, facing the snake-like figure on the ground. Instinctively, he touched his scar.

Ron plonked down beside him, causing the chair's armrests to wobble. He leaned over to take a look, "Mate, you did look quite scary back then."

Harry remained silent, flipping to another page— "Rediscovering Felix Harp." Turning over once more, it read, "The only person he fears: the greatest white wizard Dumbledore."

The fourth edition: "Dark Mark Resurfaces Over Ilvermorny Magical School!"

He sat up, reading the article.

"After that thrilling duel, many delayed messages have reached the country. For instance, the remarkable wand that was definitively identified as Salazar Slytherin's Snakewood Wand, which lay dormant in front of Ilvermorny School for over three hundred years.

It is reported that this wand was brought to America by a descendant of Slytherin and, guided by destiny, established the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It's evident that the mysterious person coveted this wand for a long time; he acquired it and then killed Ilvermorny's headmaster, Agilbert Fontana, who rushed to stop him. Fontana was a descendant of the American Twelve Proud Warlocks, maintaining a good reputation during his tenure. Last year, he led Ilvermorny's delegation to the first Triwizard Tournament.

The American wizarding community is outraged, demanding the culprit who murdered Headmaster Fontana to be handed over.

...

As of today, Ilvermorny has yet to elect a new headmaster. The only witness to Fontana's death was a young Muggle Studies professor, Uriah Edmund, who was exceptionally lucky to escape unharmed.

Edmund, during his interrogation, mentioned, 'The battle ended too quickly. Despite Fontana's resilient resistance, the opponent's spells were evil and unpredictable, dismantling all defenses in an instant...'

Up to now, the American Congress of Magic has not released an official statement, with rumors suggesting they sent Twelve Proud Warlocks to intercept the

mysterious person, resulting in heavy losses. Dumbledore and Minister Bones urge all wizards to unite against this mysterious person and his Death Eater forces.

This news remains unconfirmed."

Harry put down the paper, feeling heavy-hearted.

Ron optimistically said, "Don't worry, Hogwarts is probably the safest place in the world. The mysterious person wouldn't dare come here."

"You're right," Harry said, feeling slightly better.

Ron glanced at Hermione, who was scribbling and drawing at the table, and whispered, "We can't do anything at school. Instead of worrying about that, let's focus on the trouble close at hand."

"What trouble?"

"The Quidditch match is coming up. I asked Angelina, the first game is this weekend against Slytherin. Professor McGonagall specifically exempted us from homework this week, and Snape booked the pitch a month in advance. Harry, everyone wants to win!"

...

On the first weekend of November, Valen joyfully ventured out, adorned with a small scarf, strutting along the way.

The courtyard was lightly dusted with snow, inconsequential to Valen, who left a trail of tiny footprints while searching for something.

"Wow! Look, it's the little rich lady."

A group of people clamored around.

Valen grandly nodded, swatting away a finger aiming to scratch its chin. It leaped onto a bench in the courtyard, and the young wizards promptly presented their collected "treasures."

"I found a shiny pebble by the Black Lake!" a boy proudly announced.

Valen shook its head, and the others chimed in.

"Valen already has lots of shiny stones. Look at mine!" a young witch mysteriously pulled out a small hat from her pocket adorned with sparkling patches, catching Valen's eye.

"Chirp!"

Rummaging through its pocket, Valen picked a few items: a paper crane that could fly, some ghostly food, a tiny bottle of super bubble juice, and a feathered quill floating in the air. The young witch seemed indecisive.

"It's the super bubble juice, pick that one!" suggested a nearby wizard.

"What's this feathered quill for?" the young witch inquired.

Valen picked up the quill and in the air, scribbled a crooked word. The onlookers gasped, "It can write! A writing Niffler!" Valen initially reveled in the attention but then, thinking of the Dark Lord, quickly erased the airborne script.

"I'll take this." Mafalda said, her eyes gleaming.

The first trade concluded smoothly. Valen donned a golden-yellow hat and scarf, feeling elated.

"Hey, Valen, want a picture?" Colin Creevey, passing by, asked.

Valen nodded eagerly.

Colin seemed to conjure a camera out of nowhere, opening the lens cap, and Valen called out. "What's wrong?" Colin paused, and Valen reached into its little pocket, pulling out a small stick, striking a heroic pose.

Then, it nodded to Colin, indicating readiness. Colin snapped a picture.

"In a couple of days, I'll give you the developed photo." Waving, he departed. "I can't miss the Quidditch match; it's been a year!"

Valen's eyes sparkled, swiftly completing the remaining exchanges, even getting the boy with the glowing pebble to trade for a card that produced twelve different laughs. Satisfied, Valen left.

Returning to the castle, Valen climbed the stone steps to the castle's entrance. Setting up a shelter, it gazed towards the distant Quidditch pitch, beginning to fret about the distance.

It wanted to watch the Quidditch match but walking there was too tiring. As it pondered, Valen heard a voice keenly, "Astoria, can't you be a bit less taxing..."

"What did I do?" a disgruntled voice replied.

Before Astoria could retort, a Niffler dashed toward her, arms outstretched, blocking them.

"It's you, little one?"

Astoria happily approached, attempting to pat Valen's head, but the Niffler agilely dodged and pointed a stick at her, annoyed.

"Hey, where did you get that wand?" Astoria exclaimed in surprise.

Daphne also examined, "It's different from what was displayed in the newspaper. Could it be a student's?"

Valen shook its head, pulling out a quill, scribbling a crooked word in the air, "Mine." It patted its chest.

"Cut it out. It's yours, but can you use it?" Astoria questioned.

Valen was thrilled, waiting for that question. It gestured challengingly to Astoria.

Astoria looked puzzled.

"Is it challenging me to a duel?" She looked perplexedly at her sister, Daphne, who shrugged.

Turning back, Astoria found Valen continuously nodding, signaling, "Yes, just as you thought." She hesitated for two seconds, then burst into laughter, exchanging knowing looks with her sister.

"Look, Daphne, this is amusing!"

Two seconds later, Astoria, with a serious face, pulled out her wand, saying, "Since you've asked, I can't refuse. Forgot to mention, I won the dueling championship in my first year, the only one ever."

Daphne, embarrassed, covered her face, not wanting to witness her immature sister. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, I'll go easy on you," Astoria waved, but with a sneer in her eyes. "Don't accuse me of bullying; you strike first."

Valen, standing in place, twirled twice and then raised the little stick.

A sudden whirlwind appeared out of nowhere, lifting Astoria into the air, spinning her ten feet high. Helpless, Astoria, with a hint of bewilderment, tried to grab at something but found herself powerless. Passersby chuckled, pointing and whispering, nearly bending over with laughter.

What made it worse was that during this, Valen and Daphne stood together, observing with interest, while Daphne burst into laughter.

After nearly a minute in the air, the whirlwind entangling Astoria gradually settled, leaving her on the ground, dizzy and seeing stars. She couldn't even stand properly. "Valen!" she yelled in frustration, clumsily trying to lunge at Valen but ending up stumbling towards Daphne.

Annoyed, Astoria lifted her head from her sister's embrace, finding Valen's bright eyes staring at her intensely, the little yellow hat and glittering patches shining in the sunlight.

Fifteen minutes later, Valen sat on Daphne's shoulder, joining them to the Quidditch pitch.

Astoria pouted along the way.

"Valen, how did you suddenly learn magic?" Daphne asked curiously.

"Chirp!"

"Was it Professor Snape who helped you?"

Valen shook its head.

"Weird... I noticed a few small gems embedded in your wand. Any secrets?" Daphne caught a hint of mystery.

Valen shuddered, quickly hiding its treasures in its pocket. It acted like nothing happened.

The Quidditch field was packed with people. Due to no matches the previous year, excitement and interest for the first match of the new school year soared. Almost everyone who could come was present; students chattered excitedly despite the chill.

Valen waved goodbye to the Greengrass sisters, sensing the Dark Lord's presence.

Jumping off Daphne's shoulder, Valen retrieved two small bottles from its pocket and handed them to the sisters—a travel fare, if you will.

"Ghostly food? Do I have one too?" Astoria asked in surprise.

Valen nodded happily. After all, you were the first I defeated and a 'dueling champion.' This was the first step for the great Niffler magician Valen to enter the historical stage. It had already planned to write an autobiography after defeating the Dark Lord, detailing this first battle in vivid detail...

As Valen vanished, Daphne extended her hand with a stern face. "Confiscation!" Astoria, sensing trouble, disappeared into the crowd.

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